Snapshot Collection
by Belphegor
Summary: A series of short stories, set in DCAU. Canon pairings if any, no slash. 28: Copperhead had his answer - the Central City Rogues were not interested in joining Lex Luthor's vendetta against the Justice League. But he had a nagging question...
1. Games

Author's Note: Hi :o) I'm new to this fandom, and as usual really really unsure about posting this 'story' (not quite a story, more like a collection of length-varying drabbles - some really short, some much longer), so feel free to rip it to pieces. Y'know, as long as it's constructive :) By the way, a huge thanks to ChaosandMayhem, my beta reader, who unrelentingly reads and corrects anything I send her way :o)

Also, I'm French and I naturally write with a British dictionary/spell check, so if there's little weird tidbits like 'colour' and 'centre', they're not mistakes. I always do my damnedest to get the feel and the voices right, though. Like everyone who writes, I'm sure.

_Disclaimer: The _Justice League_ characters and situation belong to DC Comics and, I think, Warner Bros. I'm just borrowing them, and I put 'em back afterwards. I don't even own comics or DVDs, for Bob's sake :P_

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**Snapshot Collection**

_1. Games_

Something John can never quite figure out is why on Earth Flash keeps picking the green Brawlin' Bot whenever he manages to get Green Lantern or J'onn to play with him. Then again, every now and then, he'll call dibs on the red and leave John wondering whether he's doing this deliberately to annoy him. The one time he got around to ask the kid, Flash gave him a cocky grin and said, "What can I say? I'm unpredictable."

And John just shook his head, because that kid sure was. He'd once walked in on a game of chess between him and Batman. Not only was Flash holding his own more than decently, but the Dark Knight had _let him have the black pieces_.

John doesn't know anyone else Batman would take the white pieces for.

* * *

Okay, apart from Mists' fantastic _Respect Is Earned_, so far I've found no evidence that Wally likes to play chess, in canon or otherwise. But I loved the idea to pieces. And yeah, I know the "Brawlin' Bots" in _The Ties That Bind_ are green and… yellow, but while I don't remember their real-world counterparts' name as they were commercialised in France (no French entry for Rock 'Em Sock 'Em robots on Wikipedia :o), I distinctly recall there's a red one. It just seemed too good not to use it :D

Next up: _The first time Linda went on a date with Wally West, something bugged her throughout the major part of the night._


	2. First Date

Author's note: And she's back! With a really short ficlet. I don't think it qualifies as a drabble, because I don't think the word count is just right, but hey - I had my little fun :)

_Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Linda Park(-West) and Wally's cute butt are DC Comics property. Which is a bloody shame if you ask me, but then again, chances are that nobdy will :D_

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**Snapshot Collection**

_2. First Date_

The first time Linda went on a snappily-dressed date with Wally West, she noticed just how gorgeous the goofy, freckled guy was when he wasn't wearing a lab coat and baggy clothes. Sure, he always was kind of large around the shoulders, but he also had a cute butt that kept reminding her of someone. It bugged her throughout the major part of her date, until she finally dismissed it and enjoyed the dinner and movie.

The nagging sense of familiarity was still present on their second date, but she shrugged it off this time.

In the end, though, it was the smile that tipped her off.

* * *

From the few comics I've read, I love Linda, and the obvious crush she seems to have on the Flash in _Flash And Substance_ is very sweet - especially since Wally is so totally oblivious to it :D So, while I like the Flash/Fire interaction in… was that _I Am Legion_? I also like to entertain the idea that the DCAU can have this in common with the DCU :o)

Next up: _When Batman hears that a member of Flash's "Rogue Gallery" was killed, he shows up in Central to check on the kid._


	3. Nobody Dies

Author's note: Okay, from now on I'll add new chapters on Wednesdays. Yeah :o) So, here's the last of the _really_ short chapters – the next are a little bit longer. So far :)

_Disclaimer: I know that there's quite a number of things DC that belong to Warner, or at least are shared, so I'll tread carefully and say everything's DC – not mine. I don't own a single DC comics anyway, except for my mail-ordered copy of Watchmen. And I don't have the JL DVDs either – I don't think they're even available in France anyway :S_

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**Snapshot Collection**

_3. Nobody Dies_

When Batman hears that a member of Flash's "Rogue Gallery" was killed after a building fell on him, he shows up in Wally's apartment with his usual Now-You-See-Me-Now-You-Don't routine to check on him. He finds a puffy-eyed, very subdued red-haired kid who keeps silent for too long minutes and looks as though he's forgotten how to be cheerful.

"Nobody's supposed to die on my watch, Bats. Nobody's supposed to _die_."

Not even the villains, in the Flash's book.

And Batman doesn't know what to say to that.

* * *

Okay, while I haven't read many _Flash_ comics (in English or French, and even less _complete_ comics) one of my favourites is one I grabbed on the Scans Daily site. The basic premise is "I'm the Flash. Nobody dies", meaning no innocent bystanders, and while the art was not my favourite style, the few pages I've read really struck a chord. It really reminded me of the _Flash And Substance_ episode, where Wally talks the Trickster into giving the info they need, turning himself in to the hospital and taking his meds again – and now I think of it, of _Comfort And Joy_, where he offers the Ultra-Humanite a mini-Christmas tree. While I love the occasional dark and edgy line in stories I read/watch, I also love a little human warmth – the kind leaves you with a smile on your face. Basic, but sweet. And I like to think that it includes the villains as well.

And the reason why I didn't which villain died is because I just couldn't bring myself to kill one of 'em :o)

Next up: _Superman can honestly say that he loves music. But he likes a song a lot less if it's continuously hummed while he's on monitor duty._


	4. Ear Worm

Author's note: Yep, it's Wednesday (evening, but still Wednesday) so here I am with another short snippet. I was just listening to that song the other day on my MP3 player (having forgotten I put it there) and when it ran I just grinned like an idiot all the way to my bus. Then I sat and wrote this in about twenty minutes. Writing while on the bus is a bumpy, messy business :o)

_Disclaimer: Donovan owns the song and DC comics own the characters – and while I'm pondering buying or not the _New Frontier_ comics (or DVD), I don't actually own anything. At all. Zip. Nada. Should I go on? :D_

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**Snapshot Collection**

_4. Ear Worm_

Superman can in all honesty say that he loves music. Some styles are definitely not to his liking, but he's always curious. Ma and Pa Kent didn't have much time for music back at the farm, so when someone brings music while on monitor duty, Superman listens.

He still hasn't given Flash back his CDs of _Pet Sounds_ and the Platters' _Greatest Hits_.

Lately, though, Flash has taken to hum a song while on monitor duty with Superman – and it's always the same song. Barely audible to a human ear (although, judging from John's reaction to it, it must be just enough to be extremely irritating) but of course, to a Kryptonian, it comes close to a particularly creative form of torture.

Especially since Hawkgirl has taken it up, too.

And then, one morning during breakfast, Clark hears the song on the radio. And he listens to the lyrics.

"_Any trick in the book now, baby, all that I can find … Superman or Green Lantern ain't got a-nothin' on me …_"

Clark can't help but grin in his coffee.

'_Sunshine Superman_', indeed.

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If someone has any idea as to the music those seven might listen to in canon (both comics and cartoon) I'd like to hear it. Although there are some stereotypes we can lean on, I think it's pretty open to interpretations :o)

Next up: _Wally hasn't had his old stuck-in-super-speed nightmare for a while now – not since he defeated "Brainthor". But he doesn't know what he would give to have it back._


	5. Fear

Author's note: I know, it's not Wednesday. As the immortal words of Doctor Emmett L. Brown go, "Yeah, well. I figured, what the hell" :o)

_Disclaimer: I never dun nuffing. But I've found that a nicely general statement works better than a suspiciously specific denial. In any case, if I ever come to own _anything_ Justice League-related, I promise I'll let you know._

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**Snapshot Collection**

_5. Fear_

"_I'm sorry, Wally."_

_They're all here, looking at him, and Superman's grim expression is worse than Batman's glare has ever gotten, and John won't meet his eyes and Shayera is gripping her own arm so hard it's gotta hurt … Diana looks like she might cry but won't allow herself to, J'onn has compassion written all over his face … Batman has his hardest Bat-poker expression on._

"_I'm really sorry."_

_He knows. It's the only thing to do. That's why he finally stopped running._

_That's why he'll never run again._

_Power of this magnitude always comes with a price – and _this_ is the price you pay for becoming the villain of your own story._

"_Goodbye, Wally."_

_Two dots begin to glow red, and the heat evaporates the tears before they fall from Superman's eyes …_

Wally wakes up, drenched in sweat and his heart thumping at top speed.

This time, it takes him twenty endless minutes before he can slow his heartbeat down to normal. That's five minutes longer than the last time the nightmare woke him up.

It takes him even longer to notice he's driven his nails into his palms again. His fingers hurt, and it's fortunate that he keeps his nails really short.

He doesn't remember having the old nightmare about getting stuck in super speed ever since he defeated the Luthor/Brainiac Thing with two heads. It never failed to end (except that one time with Doctor Destiny when the dream ended in a highly satisfying kicking of supervillain ass) with him waking up abruptly to a sense of dread and unnerving loss of all bearings for a few seconds, but nothing worse than that.

Right now, though, he doesn't know what he would give to have the old nightmare back.

* * *

Yeah. Bit chilling. I don't know whether Supes would fry his brain (Justice Lords style) or kill him (though my money's on a quick death) but that's not really the point. Just wanted to dig into a possible change in "worst fear ever", because as the series go Flash gradually discovers exactly what he can do with his powers (the 'speeding his heartbeat to make it look like it flat-lined' thing in _A Better World_ is a good example) and it all kind of culminates in _Divided We Fall_ where everyone (including the audience) realises just how _powerful_ he really is. That sort of stuff can be enough to change a guy's most intimate fear, methinks.

Although J'onn's character arc was the most developed, there's a significant change between the early JL series Flash and the end of the JLU series, especially after the Brainthor thing. Fortunately, he still remains a goofy, approachable kinda guy, though :o)

Next up - "_Each step is hard, and every stare is painful. But Shayera Hol holds her head high and keeps her back straight._"


	6. Return

Author's note: in 45 minutes, it'll be November 9th, and it'll be the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. I was 7 years old, and I wish so hard I could remember that day. Because even here in France we watched the wall fall. But I don't remember it :( Anyway, this day deserved a mention. On with the story now.

_Disclaimer: DCAU meaning DC (originally Detective Comics, actually) Animated Universe, do you think there's the slightest chance of an ice cube in hell that anything except the basis for the story might belong to me? Now, seriously._

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**Snapshot Collection**

_6. Return_

Each step is hard, and every stare is painful. But Shayera Hol holds her head high and keeps her back straight.

It's really, really easy to imagine that every pair of eyes in the cafeteria is turned her way and is yelling silently, _Traitor_. In fact, on the five or six masked faces – most of them she has never seen in her life – there's a mix of mildly cold curiosity and indifference. The gossip that started when she walked in died down abruptly when Diana strode out, the dessert on her tray unfinished. Her blue eyes were the perfect picture of royal crushing contempt, the last words she said to Shayera echoing in the former Hawkgirl's head.

"_I should leave you to burn."_

Shayera stared back, unflinching.

Whispers start again as she sits down at an empty table and resolutely keeps her gaze steadily in front of her, keeping her hands from shaking with sheer iron resolve.

_You knew it was going to be hard. You can face this._

It's only a cafeteria, filled with people she's never spoken to. Of the original seven, she's only seen John (_oh, John …_) and Superman so far. Diana makes three. Of course she can withstand a few mutterings and some white noise gossip.

Her will continues to build up iron walls around her heart. There's no way in any kind of hell that she's going to let them guess that, behind those walls, there's a woman looking for a way to hide her tears.

"_I should leave you to burn."_

_Guess I'll be taking my meals in my quarters …_

"Hawkgirl!?"

Her fingers close instinctively around her mace as her head whips around – and she finds herself looking into a shocked face.

By the look of it, Flash has almost dropped the six pizza boxes he's holding. Unless he's just caught them at the last moment. He does that.

The very next second, the boxes lie next to her tray on her table and he's got his arms wrapped tightly around her.

"It's so good to see you!"

He doesn't bother whispering, and every face left in the room turns to them in surprise. There are only two now, so it makes it easier for Shayera to ignore them, hugging her friend back as tight as she can. The unadulterated, candid joy in his voice nearly undoes her resolve not to cry.

"Thought I'd never see you again for a while here," he whispers, and for a six-foot-tall, rather muscular young man, it's amazing how he can sound like a ten-year-old boy. She can't help a slightly choked-up chuckle.

"Don't be stupid." _You're practically the only family I've got left_, she doesn't add, but she hopes he gets the message.

When they part, Shayera has a broad, genuine smile on her face, and to her it feels like the first she's had in absolute ages. She takes up a chair and watches Flash as he does the same and offers her a slice of pizza like it's the most natural thing in the world.

He's almost the same as he looked last time she saw him, apart from looking a little tired, but there's a very subtle change to his posture and the way he moves – not exactly slower, because that's a word the Fastest Man Alive just refuses to acknowledge, but more … grounded. Confident. As though he's matured a little bit during the months she's spent in Doctor Fate's tower.

Of course, he chooses this very moment to ask her, "So, what's up?" with his mouth full, spraying little bits of food and looking sheepish when he notices, so she doesn't worry about him growing too 'mature'.

She chews on her slice of pizza and wonders where to begin.

"Well, for a start, don't call me Hawkgirl. She never – that was just a stupid nickname."

"Okay, no prob. I wondered why you never wanted to upgrade it to 'Hawkwoman', though."

He gives her one of his big, silly smiles, and the old sense of familiarity is back. For a second, it feels like she never left.

Then the heavy dread and guilt rear their ugly head, and she remembers why she left.

Feeling drained now that she stopped relying on sheer determination to appear stone-faced and unruffled, her shoulders sag and she all but puts her head between her hands.

Flash stops chewing, and peers at her in concern.

"You okay? Is – is it something I said? Gee, you'd think I'd learned by now when to keep my big dumb mouth shut …"

"It's not you," she cuts him off, the familiar lump of anger and misery growing again in her throat. "You've been the – it's the kindest welcome I've had, and it means a _lot_ – it's …" She massages her temple; it's a soothing gesture she only discovered when she decided not to wear the traditional Thanagarian helmet. "It's … It's hard, and it's complicated, and it doesn't go away by sharing a few slices of pizza."

Flash gets really quiet for a moment, looking subdued and a bit sad. Then he gives her a warm smile and opens the second box, holding it in front of her for her to pick a slice.

"But pizza helps."

She shakes her head, grinning in spite of herself. "Yeah, pizza helps. Thanks."

"So …" he begins with his mouth full, but quickly swallows. "Not 'Hawkgirl', then?"

"Definitely not."

"Huh." He taps his finger against his chin. There goes that big grin of his again. "Why don't we start over, then?"

And he does the last thing she expects him to.

He lowers his cowl.

"Hi, I'm Wally West. Nice to meet ya."

Shayera just stares at him, stunned.

Flash – Wally – has short red hair that sticks up in every direction and a smattering of freckles across his nose. His pale blue eyes should look cold, but they're alight with the laughter and warmth that's always in his voice when he speaks.

It figures, really.

When she recovers from the shock – pretty quick – her eyes dart in every direction as she hisses, "Are you _insane_? Your secret identity's not gonna be much of a secret if everyone –"

"Hey, relax," he says, picking up the last slice. "There's only Question here, and rumours has it he's more paranoid than the Bats. Probably knows the colour of my favourite socks. So, what 'bout you?"

Shayera doesn't have to glance in the corner to feel the stare of the faceless man on her. It's creepy.

She quickly shakes the feeling off. She may not be a soldier anymore, or a hero, but she's still not the kind of woman who lets an eyeless stare creep her out.

Her gaze returns on Fl – on Wally, who's already on the third pizza.

_It's hard, and it's complicated._

But some things are thankfully simple.

"Shayera. Shayera Hol."

Wally smiles around his mouthful of pizza. "Nice name."

And this step is not painful at all.

After a few silent seconds, she cocks an eyebrow and gives him a crooked smile. This one comes out even easier that the last.

"So … Red hair, huh?"

* * *

There's two things I've always regretted with _Justice League_ – first, the virtual absence of Flash in the first season of JLU, and second (logic, really, when you consider the first thing), that they didn't follow up much on his brother/sister relationship with Shayera. That's why I love the I Am Legion episode: the "She loves me. She's like the big sister I never had. Only … you know … short." bit was wonderful. However, I do wish they'd shown a scene in the beginning of JLU where he tells her his name, and vice versa. Hence the snippet.

Besides, being the only two red-haired Founders of the League would give them another reason to stick together :o)

Next up (a follow-up on Eclipsed): _At the end of the day, Flash reflects, it could have been a lot worse. Now, if only he could get some sleep… _


	7. Company

Author's Note: whoa, 7th already? :o) Anyway, here's a longish snippet – set just after Eclipsed. Because I love this episode, but it might just be the scariest in terms of plain old thriller, and the creepy song the possessed people hum really makes it worse. So I wrote this to make it all better :D

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Justice League_, and I don't own _The Creeping Terror_ – although I think the latter is public domain by now. I saw bits and pieces, and believe me, it _is_ as hilarious as it sounds :o)_

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**Snapshot Collection**

_7. Company_

There's not a muscle in his body that doesn't ache, and the burns on his arm and leg still sting in spite of whatever J'onn has put on them, but at the end of the day, Flash reflects it could have been a lot worse.

End-Of-The-World worse.

He's been avoiding to think about it for a while now, as he's trying to get some rest. The thing is, it's hard to go to sleep when he hears the creepy hum whenever he closes his eyes. It doesn't take a lot of imagination to imagine what the five most powerful beings in the universe could have done to him if he had let them catch him – if he hadn't found that big old lamp.

He had found it very easy not to be scared about running to the sun and throwing the wormhole generator into it. Not after Superman burned two inch-deep dents into his skin with his heat vision. And _wouldn't miss whatever he was aiming at next_.

What _really_ doesn't help is the nagging thought that, had Bats been there and infected by the creepy snake people as well, Flash would almost certainly have died. Way before he got to the spotlight in the engineering bay.

Yeah. All in all, not his favourite averted apocalypse.

Damn creepy snake people.

Still, it's over now, the bad stuff has disappeared into the wormhole, and every member of the League is himself or herself again.

Now, if Flash could only get some shut-eye …

There's a quiet, polite knock on the door. Flash can only think of one person who can knock in such an unobtrusive way, and come to think of it, it's rather funny coming from the 'faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive' and stuff guy.

"C'min, Supes," he calls, glad for the distraction. Sure enough, Superman pokes his head in.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now."

"Well," Flash says rather lamely, because he's so tired he really can't think of a smarter answer, "I'm not. Whatcha doin'?"

"I was helping fixing the Javelin with J'onn and Diana. It's really badly wrecked, you know."

"Yeah, I – I know. I kinda helped with the wrecking. What's the body count now? Javelin-7 39 point something?"

Superman smiles and crosses his arms. "I think you're exaggerating. Must be the …" His eyes glance upwards, and when they come back on Flash, there's a slight hesitation in them. "… twelfth? Thirteenth? I don't know. But not the thirty-ninth. Otherwise Batman would have killed us all by now."

_Don't think, don't think …_ "Yeah. He's scary like that."

His voice must have lacked its usually buoyant tone, or something must have shown on his face, because Superman frowns and peers at him. "Flash, are you all right?"

_Yup, fine, dandy and peachy and everything._ Flash's shoulders sag a bit as the remainder of the terror from earlier sinks into the pit of his stomach and pools with the plain old tiredness. It's cold, and it's heavy, and no amount of bright and cheerful façade is going to convince the big guy that it's not there.

"Nope. I can't sleep. Been trying for hours."

There's an unspoken rule – or guideline, rather – in the League regarding the seriousness of any given situation. If it's so grave that the Flash has nothing funny to say – not one silly one-liner – then it's bad, indeed. It's always remained implicit, but it's proven true as time went by.

So Flash expects Superman to react accordingly – to show surprise, or even concern. Instead, he gives a smile and closes the door behind him.

"I just won a bet. Lantern figured that if there was something wrong, you'd be too darn proud to admit it."

Flash knows he should be really annoyed, but he can't help a snicker. Plus, there's just something about Supes saying 'darn' – he may not have been a very dedicated boy scout after all, but there's no way in heck he would utter a goshdang bad word.

"Well, you can tell him I resent that. I'm not some crazy stubborn guy who dresses like a flying rodent and refuses to admit it when he's down." He winks at Superman. "But you're _so_ not telling Bats I said that."

Superman takes up a chair that he plants near the bed, and sits on it back to front, resting his arms on the top of the back. "So. Can't sleep?"

Flash shifts a bit uncomfortably. And wishes he could joke his way out, as he usually does.

"Yeah. No big deal, though. I just got a … Well. That stuff was one bad scare. You know."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I mean, not right now. I just gotta get that creepy song out of my head." _Right about _now_ would be great._ "You're back, everybody is, we saved the world again – I say yay. Just – give me a little while to be sure everything's okay again."

When he moves again, trying to get to a comfortable position, he puts his weight on the side of his left thigh and the searing pain makes him hiss. When his eyes return to Superman, the big guy looks definitely ill-at-ease.

"I never got a chance to apologise," he says, and just his voice is enough to understand that he really is sorry. "I saw the security tapes. Not that I needed them to know _I_ did that," he adds, gesturing to Flash's bandaged arm.

There's something on the face of the Man of Steel that looks almost haunted for a second, and Flash wonders if Superman's thinking the same thing that occurred to him.

They have seen other security tapes, recently. The Other Batman – the Justice Lord Batman – gave _their_ reality's counterpart a copy of the security tapes from that fateful day in the other – twin? – dimension's White House. They all watched, all the while avoiding the urge to glance at Superman.

Flash had never seen him so pale. But then, he had felt pretty sick to the stomach himself at that point.

It creeps him beyond coherent thought that Superman went in for the kill in the _exact same way_ that the Justice Lord version murdered Lex Luthor.

Oddly enough, though, now that good ol' Supes is actually in the room, sitting next to his bed and talking casually, it's much easier to brush off the irrational fear that the creepy snake people might try their number on them again. He's good company, even when he's feeling down, or guilty – like now. He's like a smiling, solid six-foot-three brick wall who smells of soap and his mum's apple pie (he often brown-bags slices for dessert when he takes meals at the Watchtower) and when Flash hears the name of Superman, that's who he pictures. Not the most powerful alien in the world, who can kill you just by looking at you. Or, you know, through you.

Must be the apple pie thing. It's hard to stay afraid of someone who smells like Aunt Iris' kitchen when he used to visit in the summer.

Iris West Allen baked a mean pie, but Martha Kent's remains unequalled.

Typically, this train of thoughts – from security tapes to apple pie – runs through Flash's head in seconds. When he looks up at Superman, he has a genuine smile on his face and it comes from a good, warm place.

"Well, we've all been _used_ at one point for one thing or another. I stole isotopes for Grodd, remember? Man, that mind-control thingy of his was – it was like some really bad trip. From what I heard," he adds hastily, because Superman sports the beginning of a frown and the last thing he wants is a lecture about drugs and how bad they are.

The frown disappears, but it's replaced by a deadly serious look. "I'm sorry, Flash."

"No problem, big guy. I don't hold grudges if there's evil possession involved."

The silence that follows is companionable, almost comfy. Almost, because any hospital room, even if it's the medical bay of the most expensive and sophisticated satellite built by man – complete with TV set and DVD/VCR combo – will never feel entirely comfortable for Flash. It's not … right.

Then Superman throws him a sideways glance.

"If you're that tired, then you probably won't want to take a look at this."

The Boy Scout – or not really, as Flash remembers Supes telling him – often sucks at subtle hints. But somehow Flash has so far failed to see the video box that landed at one point on his bedside table.

His eyes widen as he reads the title on the old, worn cardboard box.

"_The Creeping Terror_? Are you kidding? But you never want to watch that movie!"

_The Creeping Terror_ is, in Flash's opinion, one of the worst and funniest films of all time. It's of the classic aliens-from-outer-space-come-to-sample-humanity kind; the actual filming is absolutely, delightfully dreadful, and the special effects are even worse. The 'carpet monster' in particular is to die for.

In short, Flash loves it, and he's been trying for ages to get Superman to watch it with him over a big box of popcorn and have a good laugh over bad cinematography and an exceptionally bad case of alien misrepresentation. So far, out of the three aliens of the League, only Hawgirl has spared an hour and a half – and she's mostly spent it howling with laughter.

Flash hasn't worked up the guts yet to ask J'onn, because he's unsure about the Martian's reception. J'onn J'onnz is not exactly known for his sense of humour.

Supes hasn't brought popcorn, because you're not supposed to bring food in the medbay, but the occasion is too good to pass.

Flash doesn't know if it's the familiarity of the hilariously bad voice-over, or the quiet, amused voice of Superman making comments and asking falsely innocent questions during the course of the movie, but the tension is all but gone now.

In fact, by the time the slug-like monster starts devouring people at 'Lover's Lane' and play with their cars, he's fast asleep. With a smile on his face.

* * *

When Clark notices that the Flash is finally sound asleep, he turns down the sound until only a Kryptonian can hear it and tries not to laugh too loud.

This film _is_ terrible. But Clark is curious about how it wraps up.

Besides, it's as good an excuse as any to keep the kid company. After what's happened with the Justice Lords, Superman knows all too well what it feels like to wake up to a nightmare.

* * *

_The Creeping Terror_ is in bits on YouTube – legally, since it's public domain. And it really is terrible :D The monster looks like the mutant baby of a giant slug and a hairy carpet. I figured watching a 1950s/60s film about alien invasion _with_ an alien (especially Supes, who looks anything but and has enough of a sense of humour not to take it seriously) had some kind of absurdly funny quality :o)

Next up: _Flash wonders how come they almost never go to Gotham, but when he stops to think about it, GL knows the answer._


	8. Prerogative

Author's note: I never knew anything about the commonly called 'Bat-Embargo' until I came across the expression on the DCAU wiki and read up on it. Apparently, characters used in the _Batman Begins/The Dark Knight_ film franchise (except for Batman) were banned from appearing on any DCAU cartoon (except _Batman: The Animated Series_), which meant the absence of villains like Two-Face, the Penguin, the Scarecrow, Mister Freeze … The Joker made two (memorable!) appearances and Harley Quinn only one.

Now, I wondered whether there could be a reason in canon to keep the League from going to Gotham more often than the minimum required … and came up with this.

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC Comics, and characters covered by the Bat-Embargo as well – and the whole thing is a bloody shame anyway. Imagine Mister Freeze and Captain Cold teaming up to take over the world :D_

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**Snapshot Collection**

_8. Prerogative_

"Y'know, John, I was thinking of somethin'."

"Lord preserve us."

"Hah-_hah_. We get around pretty much, right?"

John Stewart looks up from his book and into the eyes – or lenses, rather – of the Flash, who is standing in front of him with a thoughtful look on his face. Or as close to thoughtful as it gets with the kid, right up until he winks and says something really stupid to make up for it.

"I suppose we do, yeah," he says, going back to the line he was reading.

"I mean, before the whole League thing, the farthest I got was Metropolis – I mean, to fight crime, not to get coffee or Chinese take-away – and just last week we're out there in space with a bunch of aliens and a mind-controlling creep with three eyes attacking planets I didn't even know existed –"

John honestly doesn't know if he should be annoyed or amused. It often happens with Flash. So he closes his book again and cuts off, "Get to the _point_, will you?"

Flash gets that thoughtful look on his face again as he slightly turns to the Watchtower monitor where Batman is sitting, blatantly ignoring the ongoing conversation.

"How come we almost never go to Gotham?"

The question takes John by surprise, and he frowns, throwing a quick look at Batman who shows no sign of listening in on the conversation. Flash goes on, apparently thinking aloud, "I mean, think about it – there's crime all right, city's famous for its criminals – the Joker and his whacked-out girlfriend, the Penguin, the Scarecrow, that guy Captain Cold is always on about … But we're always all over the country – Metropolis, Washington, and even Central. Why do we never go help Bats?"

"What makes you think I _need_ help?" growls a familiar voice that makes Flash jump. Batman – having heard everything after all, as usual – soundlessly walks past him, his patented Bat-glare firmly in place, not even stealing a sideways glance at the speedster.

John barely manages to hold in his snicker while Flash just looks miffed.

"Well," he says crossly, glaring at the door the Dark Knight just walked through, "he isn't _that_ territorial, is he?"

John's eyes go to the door as well, but he's not really acknowledging what he's seeing. He thinks of the horrific tales he's heard about the Gotham City Rogues Gallery. He remembers Flash telling him about one of his own rogues saying that when villains want to scare each other, they tell Joker stories.

Since the League formed, they've had their share of sick, sadistic mind-twisting, but in Gotham, they take it all to brand-new levels.

He knows why Batman will always be the only one to deal with the likes of the Joker.

"You have no idea," he mutters, his book quite forgotten.

* * *

The "when villains want to scare each other, they tell Joker stories" bit was inspired by something I read on Daily Scans; one comics had villains teaming up, and one of them 'inviting' the Joker and getting disbelieving looks for it. Wish I could remember what comics it was(*) … Anyway. In my opinion, too, Batman's Rogues easily come out as the scariest, but I think they're tied for first place with Flash's. Central City/Keystone Rogues are _organised_, folks :D

_(*)Updated 07/07/10: it was in the mega-crossover _Underworld Unleashed_, and the Rogue who made the remark (in his own head, 'cause he's not keen on dying - most of the time) is the Trickster. Because I don't like leaving things hanging - and also, I'm something of a geek :P_

Next up: _In the aftermath of the Cadmus __and "Brainthor" __crisis, Superman asks Flash a question that's puzzled him for years._


	9. Draw

**Author's note**: A (late) happy Thanksgiving to the American folks out there! I hope you all had a good one, that the family spats were kept to a minimum and that the turkey was yummy. Not having this holiday in France, it's always perplexed me a little, but we do have the family-gatherings (with all the complicated interaction _that_ implies) and pig-out on holiday food covered with Christmas, so I can relate :o) Anyway, here's another snapshot, which I hope you like.

References are made to the episode of _Superman: The Animated Series_ that had Supes and Flash do a charity race to determine who was the Fastest Man Alive, and it's set during Divided We Fall in JLU, after the battle against 'Brainthor' but before Superman's speech the next day.

_Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own anything … But I'm waiting for the new _Ghost Rider_ book (the Danny Ketch 1990s version) I mail-ordered for my fiancé for Christmas (oops, I mean I asked Father Christmas for him :D) He never reads fanfictions, so I'm pretty safe. Still, in the DC department, I pretty much own zilch :o)_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_9. Draw_

"Tell me, Wally …"

"Yeah, Supes?"

"You know, that 'Fastest Man Alive' race …"

"The official one that Weather Wizard messed up, or the one we had after?"

"Well, both, actually. But mostly the second one." Superman hesitates. Now seems not the time to ask questions – especially a question that feels this stupid.

Wally almost died a few hours earlier. However he calls it – whatever this 'Speed Force' really was – he was lost for a few minutes, and would have been lost for good if Shayera, and then all of them hadn't pulled him back through.

And Superman knows that _he_ would have been lost, too, if he had killed Luthor right here and now. But he didn't.

Anyway, after such a close call, after these world-shattering events – at least, that's how it feels like to him – he _has_ to ask.

"Why did you make it a tie when you could have won easily?"

Wally stares at him, looking mighty tired and slightly bewildered. As usual when he's not wearing his mask, he reminds Clark of Jimmy. Both have vivid red hair, freckles and a pair of blue eyes that sometimes make them look even younger than they already are.

Except Wally does not actually look younger than his twenty-five right now, as he usually does after a rough fight. There's something on his face that actually makes him looks older, and it can't be just the exhaustion.

Clark can't help a fresh surge of anger at 'Brainthor' for that look on his face. Somehow, he knows the two are linked.

Wally finally gives a small smile.

"Clark … Think about it. When was that?"

The question takes Superman aback. "Let me see … A few years ago, I think – about – well, it was in –"

"Eight years, Supes. And a half, actually."

Clark's jaw almost drops open. Then he smiles. "Well, how time flies, huh?"

"Yup." Wally glances – in the usual blink-and-you-miss-it way – at the machine monitoring his life signs. It's not the first time he does this. Its beeps are slow, their regularity somewhat reassuring, but Clark can't prevent a cold, tight feeling in his stomach every time he remembers it's also regulating vibrations. To make sure he doesn't just disappear again.

"Anyway …"

Superman pointedly tries _not_ to give a start. Wally pointedly does _not_ grin.

"Think about it. I was a kid – yeah, I know you guys have a habit of calling me "kid", but back then I really _was_ one. Just turned sixteen, just taken up the Flash costume – dude, I was small fry for most of my own Rogues Gallery! 'Course, that changed, but – well. And then, I'm in a race for the 'Fastest Man Alive' title. In Metropolis. With _Superman_!"

His eyes widen, his tone livens up, and to Clark's immense relief, the out-of-place old, haunted look fades away, slowly giving way to pure tired but excited Wally.

"You were my hero, Clark! I mean, you still are, but _then_ I wallpapered my room with stuff about you! No funny business, though," he adds quickly with a wink, "that changed when I realised it was a little too ten-year-old to get a date to stay – but … gee, I don't know how to say this and not have it sound way too cheesy."

Clark waits, while Wally looks up at the ceiling of the medbay – probably the only wall that doesn't have scorch marks from the battle with the Ultimen – and back down at him.

"You gotta understand that – me and my father, we don't … get along so well. Never did, really. And Uncle Barry was way cool, but he didn't turn up till I was eleven or so. So …" Wally scratches the back of his head gingerly, making his hair stick up even more, and gives an embarrassed grin. "I was pretty much stuck with you for a role model. Big guy with a cape, flying around, doing good stuff. Well, _Bats_ had a cape, too but he scared the snot out of me."

The familiar warmth creeps up Clark's cheeks. Even after years of being Superman, sincere praise like this always makes him react like a schoolboy being congratulated by his parents. Most of the time, he's able to push it down, but right now he hasn't slept in forty-eight hours, he's still on edge from the Binary Fusion Generator firing on Cadmus headquarters, the battle with Brainthor and its aftermath. The decision that he's going to have to make weighs heavily on his mind. So Wally's words go straight to the heart without coming up against any form of defence.

"Thanks," he finally says, his voice perfectly steady, but his cheeks still hot. "That's – it really means a lot."

"It better." Wally's smile loses its awkward quality and turns into his usual grin. "And I bet you think I've lost track of the question you asked by now."

"Not at all!" Clark protests, before backing down a little. "Okay. Maybe a bit."

"You hurt me, big guy. My attention span is not _that_ short." He shifts position in his bed, and winces as a bruise calls attention to itself. "Ouch. Got to remember to stop doing that. Anyway. That race …"

He bites on his lip and shakes his head, still grinning. "God, when I think back on it, I was such a dork … Yeah. Well. Fact is, I found it easier – in a way – to make it a draw. Didn't know half of what I could actually _do_ at that point, anyway. But I knew I was faster than you. So I … It's kinda difficult to explain."

Clark turns the idea over in his head. "You didn't want Superman to stop being your childhood hero, so you made it a tie on purpose?"

Wally stares at him for a few seconds, his mouth slightly open.

"O-_kay_," he finally ventures while Clark fights a grin that might be taken the wrong way, "maybe not _that_ difficult to explain. Jeez, Supes, you know your way around words."

"I _am_ a reporter, Wally," Clark reminds him with a bit of reproach in his tone. Why is it that so many of the Leaguers who are aware of that fact regularly forget it? "Putting simple words on complicated concepts is what I do for a living."

Come to think of it, he's never asked Wally what _he_ does for a living. Just as the question rises in his throat, he sees Wally try to suppress a huge yawn, and fail. So he doesn't ask, and makes to leave.

"Hey, Clark …"

He stops at the door, and turns his head. Wally looks half-asleep, but he doggedly keeps his eyes open.

"All the times I said I was the 'fastest man alive' … And hadn't _really_ proved it … You never said anything. Why?"

Clark smiles. "Did you really believe, even for a second, that you could have fooled me? Not a chance." He shakes his head. "Frankly, do I really appear that _dense_?"

This gets a tired grin. "Nah, that's just a nasty rumour."

"Heard a few others about you, then." Clark chuckles as he only hears an unintelligible mutter in response. "Good night, Wally."

"'Night, Supes. See ya tomorrow … or maybe next month …" The rest is lost into his pillow as he falls asleep. Clark closes the door behind him.

Thinking of the speech he will have to make tomorrow.

There's little chance that Superman will be able to sleep tonight.

* * *

So … In my brain, the _Justice League_ time frame débuted around 2000/2001 and ended, well … about now (with _JL_ lasting 5 years and _JLU_ being unspecified, but I guess about three years – To Another Shore has Diana mention it's been two years since they expanded the League), with Speed Demons (the _S:tAS_ episode with the Flash) happening maybe a couple of years before _JL_. I more or less base Wally's age on mine for reference (give or take a few months), so that makes him about 16 by the _S:TAS_ episode and 18 when he starts off the League. Remember, we're talking about DCAU, so we don't know for sure whether he was Kid Flash or even if there was another Flash before him.

**_Anyway_.** The episode ended with the two starting another, genuine race, and didn't specify who won. However, later _JL_ episodes (like Eclipsed) make it clear who _is_ the Fastest Man Alive (whether or not Clark, being technically a Kryptonian, applies). But for some reason, I couldn't see Wally winning this race by a landslide, even if he _was_ entirely capable of it. Hence the story. And the very long author's note :D

And Clark _is_ a reporter, and a good one to boot. Which means that people who think Superman is thick or dense or something are obviously missing the point. The big guy may not be my favourite, but I'm very fond of his DCAU version :o)

Next up: _The first time that Flash calls him 'Bats', they're in the middle of a fight, and Batman has other things on his mind. The second time is another matter._

:o]


	10. Nickname

**Author's note**: hey, gang. This being Friday – cue the Easybeats' song _Friday On My Mind_ :D – here's another snippet. There's still 4 left, including the one I'm trying to write right now, but since I seem to be coming down with something it might take a while till the cotton in my head goes away :S Anyway, this is set very early in the series, where it's fun to dissect and comment on usually solo heroes trying to work as a team :o)

_Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own anything. Got that _Ghost Rider_ book, an Advent calendar filled with chocolate (yay!) and possibly a cold, but nothing DC-related. Shame, huh :D_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_10. Nickname_

The first time that the Flash calls him 'Bats', they're in the middle of a fight, and while Batman does register, he doesn't give it time to sink in, focusing on immediate survival.

The second time is another matter.

Batman is watching the monitors at the Watchtower, fixing a small bug in the database access, and he hears the now-familiar light thud of the Flash' and Hawkgirl's boots.

"… gotta try this. Thirty-one flavours – and wait till you get to 'cookie dough'. Hi, Bats."

Gloved fingers pause for a second above the elaborate keypad. Batman glowers as both old and recent memories of countless encounters with the Clown Prince of Crime rise, unbidden, in his mind.

"Don't call me that."

He didn't actually mean to snarl, but the low, icy tone _is_ deliberate – after all, he is The Batman. He's got a persona to keep up.

Besides, the kid just gets on his nerves far more often than he should allow him to.

Flash breaks abruptly his conversation with Hawkgirl and turns to him, looking surprised and a little bit hurt. It makes him appear younger than he is, and right now Batman doesn't need the detailed background check he did on all of them to know that the kid is still a year or two short of legal drinking age.

"Why not?" he asks.

Batman keeps his eyes firmly trained on the monitors.

"Just don't."

Thus endeth the conversation.

The third time, he tries to ignore it. And fails.

The fourth time, he throws the Flash a fully-fledged Bat-glare that makes the kid visibly flinch.

The fifth time, they're in the middle of a violent fight (again) against the Injustice Gang, and this time Batman is so aggravated that he uses a second's respite to roar, "Would you _stop_ calling me that!"

Flash skids to a halt and freezes, shock and something like fear on his face. Unfortunately, he has just been circling Solomon Grundy at super-speed, so when he stops, the zombie pounds him into the ground with all the might of his supposedly dead muscles.

This leaves Batman wishing to hell that he could use a second's respite now to find out whether the kid is still alive down there. But he can't afford to worry. Not when there's a fight.

There's always a fight.

So later that night, after the bad guys are safely taken into custody, Batman stops by the medical bay of the Watchtower where Flash is spending the night, because even a hyper-accelerated metabolism can't heal all those bumps and bruises in the blink of an eye.

The kid looks pretty downcast in his bed. _Seems he doesn't like hospitals that much._

Batman doesn't apologise, because that's not the sort of thing he does. But when Flash asks him why he reacted that way – actually, the words are "What the hell!?" – he explains. Succinctly, as usual.

The stare Flash pins on him looks halfway between anger and an infuriating impression that he's going to laugh in his face.

He seems to settle on mildly furious. Batman doesn't know whether this is because he's actually too tired to settle on anything stronger.

"And that's it? Well, that's no good reason enough for me."

He stubbornly crosses his arms across his chest, and stares defiantly at the Dark Knight. The effect would probably be more impressive without the numerous scratches and bruises all over his face.

Batman feels tired, and he wonders if it's old age or just one of the perks of team work.

"That's good enough for _me_. And that's it."

Any minute now, the Flash will blink and he'll be able to make his usual stealth exit. Any minute now …

"Just because this Joker guy called dibs on this stupid nickname doesn't mean nobody else should use it, Bats. 'Sides, I talk fast, friends' names get shorter. Ask Supes – _damn_."

Flash blinked. Batman's gone.

The sixth time, Batman shrugs it off. The seventh time, he actually smiles a little. _Deep_ down.

_Guess I'll just have to get used to it._

* * *

Oh, he will, in time :o) Yeah, third time I've put Flash in a hospital bed. At least the first two times were canon. Well, this just goes to show how much I (perhaps being your average vying-for-the-blood-of-her-favourite-character fangirl writer) like the guy :D

I've watched the _JL(U)_ episodes online in English, but not _Batman: The Animated Series_, so I have no idea whether Robin calls Batman 'Bats' – if he does, then this whole story is rendered pretty pointless. Ah well. At least it was fun to write :o)

And I love the idea of Bats pulling his Stealth Hi Bye (go see http :// tvtropes. Org/ pmwiki/ pmwiki. Php /Main/StealthHiBye and cut the blanks) routine on the Flash. Fastest Man Alive. Who did blink :o]

Next up: _It's been two years since the "White House Incident" and the change in the Justice Lords, and Lois wonders where Clark has gone._


	11. Gone

**Author's note**: I could have stopped at ten, and wrote the chapters a little longer, but you know what they say about drabbles and ficlets collections … These go to eleven :D

Couldn't resist, mate.

Anyway, here's a bit of a puzzler. Judging by this snapshot, does Lois actually know that Clark and Superman are the same person? Does she feel it, but doesn't acknowledge it? Does she play along? Did I mention this is set in the Justice Lords' universe?

Your call :o)

_Disclaimer: the writers have stated somewhere that instead of writing the fairly obvious 'Crime Syndicate' story, they went for a mirror version of the prime universe, with the same characters but different choices. This decision meant that, 1), a deeper and more insightful story and look at the characters, and a bold story-writing choice and 2), they created the 'Better World' storyline and universe (which set the whole Cadmus arc in motion, I might add) which means I didn't. At all. I'm just going along for the ride._

* * *

** Snapshot Collection**

_11. Gone_

It's been two years, and Lois often wonders where Clark has gone.

Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation with Superman, the question pops up in her mind, but then she does something she never thought she would – or even could – do. She refrains from asking.

Not that she's _scared_, hell no. At least not all the time. Not like the others are.

But she wasn't brave like Perry was. Maybe that's why she's still around – the fact that Superman likes her, and the fact that she can occasionally keep her mouth shut. She's only learned to do that recently.

But there's been no news of Clark for two years. Not since that article just after the … White House Incident.

It was the weirdest article she'd ever read.

It was an interview of Superman – this in itself was odd, since Superman always gave _her_ exclusive interviews – who explained everything that happened since the election. What really gave her the chills, though, was not the words themselves, but the tone and overall feeling of the piece.

Superman had been cold, his words final. Clark had been – his questions had felt full of hot anger. Lois didn't know what to make of this; her Smallville boy scout always kept a tight grip on his feelings toward anyone he interviewed. Very professional. And endearing. Damn him.

And this article is the last thing anyone has heard, seen or read from him. To all intents and purposes, he just vanished.

Lois has even called his parents on occasions. While Martha Kent is always glad to have her on the phone, inquiring after her well-being and insisting that her calls are always welcome, Lois notices that Jonathan Kent never wants to speak to her, and Martha's voice often sounds strained and tired.

_No, he hasn't come home. Yes, we keep hoping. Yes, you'll be the first to know if Clark gives any sign that he's alive and well._

And Lois keeps looking. Because hoping is just not good enough. It's foolish and sentimental and not efficient at all.

Nothing she does can seem to shake the first impression she got while reading the article – that something is _just not right_. Something shouldn't be. At least, shouldn't be that way.

She still hasn't figured out whose cry for help (or justice, or anything, really) the article really was, though – Superman's or Clark's.

If it was Clark's, then it was quickly silenced. And Superman hasn't stopped scaring her since. Not that she will show him.

She doesn't know why, but sometimes it feels that a part of Superman died two years ago.

Deep down, she really _hopes_ that this part wasn't actually Clark Kent.

* * *

Hey, that's my first (and so far last, I only got 2 snapshots left) fic without even a mention of Flash. Everything happens eventually :o)

As though the original premises for A Better World weren't creepy enough, it sparked a little idea in my brain. What I wanted to hint at was that very early on, ol' Supes might have become slightly schizophrenic, with the Clark side of his personality writing this article before being snuffed out of existence. Creepier. My mind feels slightly wrong sometimes :P Seriously, we don't know anything about Clark Kent in ABW – which also means we don't know anything about Martha and Jonathan Kent, for starters. Anyway.

Next up: _Sure, Batman had specified to Zatanna that she couldn't keep the video Circe recorded of his little jazz number – but he hadn't said anything about the soundtrack._


	12. Song

**Author's note**: I don't know whether I'll be able to put anything up during the holidays (places to go, people to see) so here's another snapshot. For the moment, it's the one before last, but it just means that I haven't written a 14th yet – doesn't mean it's over :o)

This one ties in with the JLU episode This Little Piggy, where magician Circe turned Diana into a pig, and the price for turning her back into Wonder Woman is Batman sharing his darkest secret. "Something that when given, you can never take back. Something … soul-shattering." So he sings a jazz standard, onstage, with a lovely voice. Love that one. It seemed too good not to milk it for all it's worth, so I wrote this :o)

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Am I Blue_, nor Kevin Conroy's rendition – greatest WTF moment in all of JLU, by the way! :D – but I do own DC comics and Warner. _

_Oh wait. I don't :P_

_

* * *

_

**Snapshot Collection**

_12. Song_

_Am I blue … Am I blue … _

"I thought I made myself _clear_, Zatanna."

The magician crossed her arms across her chest and challenged the Bat-Glare as best as she could.

"And so you did, Bruce. But you specifically said I couldn't keep the video Circe recorded. You never said anything about the soundtrack."

She wasn't going to back down on it. Not with Wonder Woman actually siding with her on that one. Diana had made herself very clear, too.

"Can't you at least turn that off while we're having this discussion?" Batman growled in his coldest, darkest tone. Zatanna smirked.

"No. I don't know what ticks you off most – the song, or the fact that you can't turn it off with magic, like I can – but it destabilises you and it serves my purpose."

"Zatanna, I –"

Batman's voice trailed off and he cast a sharp glance at the half-open door. Zatanna hadn't heard anything, but trusting his hard-trained senses, she poked her head out in the corridor.

The Flash was standing there, perfectly still – for once – and looking dumbstruck. The magician was tempted to wave a hand in front of his eyes just to see if it would get a response.

Batman muttered something very unsavoury under his breath.

"How long have you been there?" Zatanna asked resignedly, pointedly ignoring another oncoming Bat-Glare behind her.

"L–long enough," Flash stammered, his gaze jumping from her to the tall, dark figure behind her. "Bats? Was that really you singing?"

"No," Batman shot back immediately, in the same tone as he had asked Zatanna to turn the music off. Apparently the big scary voice didn't always work on everybody, because Flash appeared unfazed. Or rather, gradually turning back to normal.

A broad grin began to stretch his lips.

"So _that_'s what you had to do. I always wondered."

"Wondered _what_?"

Zatanna was immensely glad to have Batman behind her. Her own grin was becoming harder and harder to hide.

"Oh, you know, that business about Circe. Diana told me the main thing, but she just told me you had to go through some trial or other. She didn't mention anything about _singing_. Great voice, by the way."

There was the slightest sigh behind Zatanna. "I suppose you're off to tell everyone?"

Flash winked. At _Batman_.

"Nah, I outgrew childish stuff like that. What d'you think I am, twelve?" He paused, and the glance that the magician risked over her shoulder confirmed what she suspected: a deliberately pointed look from the Dark Knight. Flash cleared his throat.

"Yeah, okay, I'll admit I'm really not the most mature one around here. But look at it this way: at least I didn't laugh at ya. That's how much I grew up." He peeled back his glove to look at his watch. "Oh, jeez – gotta go, I got a date on surface in ten minutes. As not-Flash. Bye!"

Zatanna held onto her top hat as he sped off down the corridor, leaving a gust of wind in his wake.

When she turned back to Batman, he seemed to steel himself for the continuing discussion. So they both started a little bit when a cheerful voice came through their com-links, "Hey, Zatanna, right? Don't let Bats scare you into deleting this thing, it's gold!"

"No way I will," she replied with a smirk only Batman could see.

The song ended, silence filling the room. His eyes narrowed.

"I suppose blackmail is out of the question."

"You suppose correctly," Zatanna retorted, coldly.

The Mexican stand-off could have lasted a long time, as neither adversary was willing to turn their back on the scene. One hundred and eighty-five seconds stretched painfully. Zatanna's eyes began to water …

And then a huge laugh exploded in their com-links. A wild, hearty laugh, broken in places by shaky intakes of breath that sounded as though they were never going to be enough to fill the lungs' quota of oxygen.

Both Zatanna and Batman deflated slightly. The tension eased off with each passing second.

In the end, Batman gave a terse nod, and Zatanna knew she had won. She tilted her head to the side and said with a slight grin, "So … You're gonna tell him that his com-link's still on?"

Batman smirked.

* * *

OF COURSE HE WILL. And he'll scare him to death :P

I always wondered how Diana came to know about the business in the Amphitheatre. I guess Zatanna must have told her at some point, but I prefer to think she did keep a record of this and showed it to Diana. Hence her knowing Am I Blue. Of course, she could have just known the song before, but honestly, don't you prefer Diana watching and listening to the whole thing?

"What d'you think I am, twelve?" Oh Wally. Don't you ever grow up too much :D

Next up: _When Batman meets the man Wally introduces as his uncle, he can't help a slightly puzzling feeling of déjà vu._


	13. Encounter

**Author's note**: today is the best first day of Christmas holidays _ever_. It _snowed_, people! In Bordeaux! Where we only get a few flakes if we're lucky in February, which don't hold anyway, but is just enough to make people look around and go, "Ooh, pretty." Okay, it was for all of thirty seconds, but still. I'm dreamin' of a white Christmas because I don't know what it feels/looks like :o)

Anyway, here's the latest snapshot, and I'm in the process of writing a 14th (not finished yet). This one popped up in my mind because of Flash and Substance, which (unsurprisingly) is one of my favourite episodes; Wally mentions his uncle flying in, and I realised that's the only reference we ever get about Barry Allen. So I decided that, after the episode, Flash and Batman go to the airport (as Wally and Bruce) to pick him up. In this story, Wally is the only speedster. Just so it's clear :o)

_Disclaimer: I'm running out of smart-arsed ways of saying this stuff isn't mine, so I'll just say everything belongs to DC and Warner and stop there. Yeah. I'll do that._

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_13. Encounter_

When Batman sees for the first time the man Wally introduces as his uncle, he looks into the smiling, open face, and he wonders where the faint feeling of déjà vu comes from.

Maybe it's just the way Wally barely refrains from running to his uncle at super speed (remembering in time that he's out of costume), or the way the older man just _beams_ when he sees him, the memories of a thousand smiles and laughs spelled out between the two of them.

And Batman remembers guessing from what Wally didn't quite tell him that things got pretty lonely when his Uncle Barry wasn't around.

But then the man holds out a hand and says, "Hello, Mr … Wayne –" with a short but significant pause that tells Batman he knows about his 'other' identity' "– Wally's told me a lot about you." And the strange, slightly unsettling feeling comes back full force.

Barry Allen is perhaps an inch taller than Wally, and sports broad shoulders and a strong handshake; his blond hair is going grey around the temples, and there's little laughter lines around green eyes that are filled with quiet humour. He seems a good-natured individual, calm and composed – especially when compared to his adopted nephew – and there is nothing obviously extraordinary about him.

Batman is certain he has never seen this man in his life.

Yet he is struck with a no uncertain feeling of kinship.

"Have we met before?" he can't help but ask, and takes some relief from seeing the man in front of him hesitate ever so slightly. As though the same fleeting impression made its way around in his mind.

Then he settles on a slight smile, and there's something eerily familiar to it.

"Maybe in another life," he says.

Batman nods, and talks about something else, because Wally is giving them funny looks.

_Maybe it's one of those alternate universes kinds of thing again._

* * *

For those who don't know, Wally's uncle is Barry Allen, and in the DC comics 'verse he was the second Flash – from 1956 to 1985! Talk about a long run :D So, I read Darwyn Cooke's _New Frontier_ graphic novel, and although Wally's "my" Flash (like the 9th Doctor is "my" Doctor Who, etc.…) I've grown very fond of Mr. Allen – at least this interpretation. That's why I regret that we never got to meet him in the DCAU. So I filled in the blanks in my mind, and came up with this: first time Barry brought Iris' nephew to work was the time of the fated bolt of lightening. In another dimension, it could've hit Barry, but it hit Wally and gave him super speed. Wally didn't keep it a secret to his aunt and uncle. Oh, and since in the comics 'verse Wally has green eyes and Barry's got blue eyes, and in the DCAU Wally got the blue, I wrote green for Barry. Hope he doesn't mind :P

Next up: _When people talk about the 'Big Three' – Superman, Batman and Diana – and the 'Less-Big __Three' – John, Flash and Hawgirl – they always seem to leave out J'onn._

:o]


	14. Middle

**Author's note:** here we go again! :o) Happy new year, ladies and gents! Hope you had a wonderful holiday, and stuffed yourselves sick with Christmas and New Year's dinners and candies. I know I did :D

This snapshot was originally going to be about Jimmy Olsen's perfect picture (amazingly enough, I managed to write something seasonal _at the right season_ :D) but since it's not back yet from the hands of my wonderful beta reader, ChaosandMayhem – on the other hand, she has sent me the other 6 snapshots I sent her, so yay! Time for a little spotlight on our favourite Martian ;o)

_Disclaimer: I own a new computer – since my laptop died on me a month back – and the ideas that make my brain fizzle like bacon on a frying pan and sometimes turn out to be a fic. Other than that, really, this stuff ain't mine._

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_14. Middle_

When journalists and public relations people talk about the Justice League, they often mention "the Big Three" – meaning Superman, Diana, and Batman. Sometimes it makes J'onn smile inwardly thinking that the only human in their group without any kind of superpowers is included, with reason.

It's often obvious in the way those people talk about the 'lesser' trio of Green Lantern, Hawkgirl and Flash that _they_ are, in a way, the 'Not-So-Big Three'. They're not invulnerable, nor are they stubborn and prepared – some nasty whispers say 'paranoid' – enough to make up for it.

It doesn't really annoy them, not much. J'onn knows it especially ruffles Hawkgirl's feathers the wrong way, but even _she_ is aware that 'the Big Three' is just a nickname for the major powerhouses, and while she certainly is very powerful in her own right, she doesn't come close to Superman in terms of pure strength and muscle.

This leaves out J'onn.

Now, he knows that those people don't _mean_ to single him out. And he knows each and every one of the other six would take it very badly indeed if some poor unfortunate idiot said the Martian didn't belong with the League.

But the fact is, he's not really a part of the Big Three, nor the Not-So-Big Three. He's … in the middle.

It gets lonely, in the middle.

Maybe it's because that, of the three aliens of the League, he looks the least human. Superman lives most of his life as a regular man, and in spite of her wings, Hawkgirl cuts a very acceptable – _more_ than acceptable, if Green Lantern's mental aura is anything to go by – womanly figure.

That frog on the TV puppet show he watched the other day was right: it's not easy, being green.

Most of the time, when the thought of being alone in the middle takes its toll on J'onn's mind, all he has to do in tune in to the wavelengths his comrades-in-arms are projecting. He lets his mind drift, gently skimming Diana's serene confidence, Superman's calm strength, or Flash's bubbling laugh, and he feels at home.

Sometimes, though, it's not enough.

He wonders about that.

* * *

Poor J'onn. His whole family and civilisation wiped out, and he's still singled out more often than not. No wonder he doesn't deal much with humanity in the fourth and fifth season. Which makes his return and the reveal of his new family life in Destroyer all the more awesome and heartwarming :o)

Next up: _Giganta felt herself blushing a tiny little bit as she climbed the Eiffel Tower and crushed a handful of Parademons. Darn it, but Flash had a cute smile._


	15. Team

**Author's note**: Back so soon? Yep. I'm making up for my relative lack of posting since 2009 ended. But mostly, I'm just celebrating the fact that Chaos sent me back the snapshot about Jimmy's perfect picture. Yay! :o)

Oh, and just for the record … I've been to Paris. I live in Bordeaux, which is a smaller city, with actually an older and more coherent architecture, and the size and feeling of this city is perfect for me in terms of human scale. Paris is anything but "cute and quaint"; it's big, daunting, and three days in it made me regret Bordeaux. Here the buildings don't look as though they're trying to say, "Feel small, you puny human" :P

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Eiffel Tower, and I don't own the characters and situations mentioned in it. I don't even own a copy of _Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman _:o)_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_15. Team_

Giganta had never been to Paris before.

From the bits she could see between two Parademons, the city was everything she expected – cute and quaint with funny buildings that looked appropriately French. The Eiffel Tower was smaller that she had thought, though.

Still, the steel and iron work was pretty strong, even though she didn't dare use her full size as she climbed it and reached to grab one of the Parademons' machines. The rigging held on where she clung.

While she climbed higher and crushed the machine, she heard above the din of screaming and fighting, "Giant Lady Climbing National Monument – y'know, that's something you just don't see every day. Except in those old black-and-white movies, of course."

The Flash had sped up another side of the Tower and knocked down some of the Apokolips invaders. He grinned at her, lightening-quick.

At least _he_ got in the spirit of the whole 'forced cooperation' thing. So far, the Green Lantern had been a bit of a stick.

In spite of who she was, who _he_ was and a good eight years or so of fights and defeat – mostly on her part, as she had to admit – she felt herself blushing. A bit. A tiny bit. Hardly a blush, anyway.

Darn, he had a cute smile.

She swatted a Parademon, sending him – it? him? – crashing into the ground, and frowned.

"Are you comparing me to King Kong?"

The Flash zipped here and there, landing rock-hard punches on whatever armour he could get his hands on, and stopped to look around for more. "Nah," he said cheerfully. "It's more like _Attack of the Fifty-Foot Woman_ or something. Man," he added with a slightly faraway grin just before sprinting away, "Allison Hayes was a _babe_."

Giganta hated those movies. Whatever he or she was – or used to be before the traditional transformation – the monster invariably died at the end. She had cried her eyes out watching _King Kong_. Of course, she was well-placed to know that the ape character didn't look or move at all like a real gorilla – giant or otherwise – but that hadn't stopped her from cursing the silly blonde bimbo and the dumb cruel soldiers in their planes.

Speaking of flying nuisances …

She turned her head sharply when she spotted some Parademons just a few feet away from her head with one of their energy guns – but wasn't quick enough. The beam hit her right below the temple.

The blinding, paralysing pain exploded in her mind, sending echoes in waves throughout her body, and she felt herself shrink back to human size and fall down, down …

That beam must have been _very_ powerful, because although the pain in her head was still very much there, the dreaded encounter with the ground far below never came. The feeling of free fall subsided slowly, giving way to an eerie floating sensation, with the wind still howling and rushing past her ears.

Then everything stopped abruptly, and she looked up into a pair of blue eyes.

She had never been close enough – for that matter, he had never stood still long enough for her to notice that the Flash had blue eyes.

She also noticed that he had caught her in his arms as she fell, and hadn't put her down.

The blush came back full force.

_Darn._

"You caught me!" she exclaimed, more to draw attention away from her than for the sake of small talk. That said, this fact alone was surprising.

He put her down gently.

"Yeah, I made a little whirlwind first and then did some maths about mass displacement." He said that very fast, in a casual enough manner – then he seemed to hesitate a little. "You … you're a tiny bit heavier than you look, so I had to catch you in the end."

Had they not been in the middle of a global apocalypse, Giganta could have hugged him on the spot. Instead, she drew a sharp intake of breath and let out a breathless almost-squeak. "Nobody gets that! You're the first to – nobody _ever_ gets that!"

Flash stared at her for a second and a half that must have felt like an eternity for him, looking quite alarmed.

"I mean – _thank you!_" she finally burst, still blushing furiously and cursing herself for it. He gave a shrug and a smile.

"Hey, that's kinda what you do in a team. I mean, you're watching my butt, so just this once, I might as well do the same for you."

Why, oh _why_, did he have to say that?

_Watch his butt? Oh, definitely._

Giganta's whole head now seemed to be on fire.

"Yeah," she muttered, "of cour– _oh, wa–_"

The Flash turned, ran up the Eiffel Tower again and kicked up the second level, using it as a ramp to leap through the air and punch the snot out of the same energy blaster that had taken down Giganta and was about to fire on him. He landed in a half-crouch just as it exploded and zipped back in front of her, grinning.

"–_tch out!_"

Giganta blinked. The Flash winked.

"See? That's what I mean. Teamwork."

And he sped off, leaving her to stare at the dust trail in his wake.

For a brief moment, she wondered how his usual teammates got used to this. Then immediately was shocked by how quickly she wondered if _she_ could get used to this.

This 'forced cooperation' thing was getting confusing.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, it was hard for Giganta to actually decide – it was well over a few hours later. The Parademons flew back _en masse_ to wherever they came from in the first place, leaving damage and destruction behind them. But people were too busy cheering and celebrating the fact that the Earth had not in fact been destroyed to take in the amount of work they would have to do later. She wasn't sure whether they actually even _cared_, at that point.

The Flash and the Green Lantern caught each other's eye and grinned.

That look and simultaneous grin carried years of partnership, shared near-death experiences and genuine trust, and Giganta couldn't help a slight twinge of jealousy. After the Arctic fiasco and recovering from that _thing_ Grodd had planted in her brain – plus Luthor's obsession with Brainiac and the monumental mistake he had made in bringing back Darkseid – she felt quite determined to never trust another villain team ever again.

She was dead set, and nothing would make her change her mind.

So it had come as a real shock just how easily she had subconsciously questioned her decision.

All it had taken had been Flash smiling at her.

This was not acceptable. At all.

She was _Giganta_ – a strong, independent woman now, one gifted with mighty power at that. After Grodd's betrayal, she had sworn that no male would ever have so much influence over her.

Something had to be done about that. Problem was, she just couldn't decide exactly what. She just needed time to think about it …

And then, suddenly, she didn't have much time left. Because Wonder Woman looked Atomic Skull square in the eye, deadly serious, and said, "Four minutes … and fifty seconds."

All the Legion survivors scattered and scrambled out, and Giganta had one second's hesitation before the solution flared up in her head like fire.

She ran up to Flash, cupped his head between her hands and kissed him. Hard. On the lips.

He was warm and soft and strong and smelled of aftershave and iced mocha.

It probably wasn't the sweetest, or the most passionate, and certainly not the most experienced kiss he must have gotten in his life, but for Giganta, it was _perfect_.

Exactly what a first kiss should be, she reflected afterwards.

She would have time, after, to steel herself and get over the guy – just in case they ever faced off each other again – but she would also remember _that _second as a bright, shining moment, the kind of recollection that makes you feel warm and happy all over.

As her lips left his – warm and sweet and delicious – she ran off, risking only a quick glance behind. This glance turned out to be the second best idea she'd had today.

The Flash was wearing a big, silly smile on his face, as though he still couldn't quite process what had happened but had enjoyed it thoroughly.

Giganta was still grinning when she crossed the Canadian border a few hours later.

_Best. First. Kiss. EVER._

* * *

To quote the TV Tropes site, "Flash's (Crowning) moment (of Awesome) was probably when Giganta kissed him out of nowhere. _He_ probably thought so, at least." When I saw (and re-watched it, and re-watched it again…) I wondered about that moment (after indulging myself in some squeeage, of course) and tried to put myself in the big girl's head. Hope you liked the trip :o)

Next up: _If you were to ask Jimmy Olsen whether there are pictures he loves most, he'd say that everyone has its importance. But one in particular will always make him smile._

:o]


	16. Perfect Picture

**Author's notes**: I bloody love Internet. See, we don't get that many comics in France – it's a long way away to get the monthly issues, so comics are generally published in hard-back (or not) volumes according to arc significance. And it's _really_ hard to find original English versions. Plus (and I'm not throwing stones here, just whining a bit) it's all pretty much Marvel Comics on the shelves (about two-thirds, or three-fifths, I'm not joking) and if it's DC you're looking for, well, too bad. At least we get independent stuff, too. And Hellboy. Thank goodness for that. _Anyway_ … I recently found a website where I could read some of the comics arcs and stories I'd only heard about till now, and while with my crappy connection it sometimes takes a lot of time for the pages to appear, it means lots of good reading. And punching the air and going "Whoo-hoo!" because a few pages I've read are just plain awesome.

Sorry. /rant. Anyway, here's one of my favourite snapshots so far. I did write it around Christmas time, but Bob forbid I should put up a seasonal snippet :D

_Disclaimer: I own the clothes I'm wearing as I type this, the glasses on my nose and various paraphernalia and stuff that are cluttering my flat – sadly, the rights for DC comics and Justice League aren't among them. The shock :o]_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_16. Perfect Picture_

If, at the end of a long and very eventful career, you were to ask James Bartholomew Olsen whether a particular moment or picture feels like the highlight of said career, he'd smile and say that every single picture has its importance.

There's the picture he took when he first glimpsed a hint of red and blue in the sky, the countless pictures he managed to get in situations that sometimes could turn quite hairy, because Miss Lane believed that blood, toil, sweat and tears was the way to a good article. There's also the pictures of several averted apocalypses, right at the turn of the tide, when black despair turned into a wild, flickering hope.

Somewhere in his special vault, there's a photo of a torn, ragged piece of red and blue fabric caught in rubble, that marks the time when the world thought it had lost its greatest hero.

But when you leave, he'll open this special vault, take out a picture and look at it with a smile.

At first glance, there's nothing special about this one. It's just a snapshot of the seven founding members of the Justice League, with Lois Lane standing next to Superman and the lights from a Christmas tree shining from the left edge.

But if you were allowed time to give it more than a passing glance, you'd see the various looks of absolute shock on the faces, and there is something subtle but definitely there passing between Shayera Hol and John Stewart, and the beaming, _huge_ smile on the Flash's face would leave you with the persistent impression that he's just the happiest guy on Earth right now.

Jimmy remembers that time like it was yesterday. In a sense, it might have been, because human memory is an unbelievable mess with no concept of filing system at all, and his memory of his Auntie Lynn offering him a bow tie for his 14th birthday shares a spot with the time several years later when Miss Lane told him he _was_ allowed to 'lose' it if it bothered him so much.

He liked the bow tie. He just left it in a drawer the day he realised he didn't need it to make him look older and more serious.

It was on the thirteenth – or fourteenth – Christmas after the founding of the League, and the seven original members had decided to spend it together, for once. Even Batman had accepted to be torn from Gotham City, which was a miracle onto itself.

Of course, Perry had sent Miss Lane and Jimmy there to cover the event.

Clark had not objected. Now, after all these years, Jimmy can't help but shake his head and wonder how he could have missed it. It was so obvious, when you thought about it.

The thing is, it should have been a private affair. The problem was not the presence of two _Planet_ reporters, nor was it the fact that it was held in the Metro Tower, with all of them in costume, nor was it really that things were more than awkward between four people – namely Shayera Hol and John Stewart, as well as Diana and Batman – each one tiptoeing around the other half of the equation and being generally uncomfortable.

Green Lantern and Vixen had officially broken up a few weeks ago. Jimmy was not really supposed to be in-the-know, but the facts being what they were, he even knew that Vixen was the one who had called it quits, making the situation even more uneasy.

Superman went from one to the other, making conversation and wishing everyone a merry Christmas. J'onn J'onnz was decidedly _trying_, but he appeared to grow slightly impatient. When Jimmy went to him asking for a picture, he gracefully complied, but made a passing remark that he was missing his wife and almost regretting having accepted to come.

Jimmy didn't know what to say to that. So he kept his mouth shut and his eyes and ears wide open.

Unfortunately, the very next guy he turned to for a picture turned out to be Batman, who stared at him as though defying him to press the button of his camera. Jimmy couldn't help a small jolt, but bravely held up his working tool and gave a tentative smile.

"Uhm, evening, Jimmy Olsen, _Daily Planet_. Mind if I take a picture, sir?"

"Yes," Batman answered curtly. "I do, as a matter of fact."

And he was gone in a swoosh of black cape. Jimmy could still feel the weight of his glare.

So _that_ was a Bat-glare, huh? Scary.

_Ah, well_. Jimmy grabbed his camera and glanced around in the deceptively casual manner he had come to use over his years as a photographer. The perfect picture was a curious, inconstant thing, and it _very_ rarely happened with formal portraits.

He knew that. He'd spent years looking for the perfect picture. He had caught some good ones, but very few _great_ ones.

Miss Lane was standing nearby, between the canapés and the stuffed olives. Jimmy put his camera back around his neck and sidled next to her, using the olives as an excuse.

"Having a good evening, Miss Lane?"

"Oh, just fantastic, Jimmy," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm having the time of my life here. You know, this was supposed to be an occasion for the Magnificent Seven to get together and have themselves a merry little Christmas, and we could have gotten a nice shining Christmas article about peace on Earth and good will to men out of it – which we _will_, mind you – but I'm afraid the picture will lack Christmas cheer."

Her voice went down a little on the last phrase, and Jimmy peered at her. Close-to, she looked a little tired behind the ever-present snark. He grinned at her.

"Maybe, but there's no way tonight enters our Worst Christmas competition. Remember that time in Kaznia two years ago?"

She met his eyes, and the violet seemed to shine a little brighter as a very slight smile turned the corners of her lips. "Oh, yes. Up to our armpits in snow and mud trying to interview the 'freedom fighters' on both sides without getting killed. That one's a winner."

"That stake-out on the docks for a story that turned out to be a total dud takes the cake, though. Man, it was _cold_."

"Point taken."

"Yeah."

They shared a smile over the memories of doomed stories past and all of those that were to come, and not for the first time, Jimmy was struck by just how amazing Lois Lane was. She could have used her charms for just about everything, with those eyes and that smile, but she seldom did, preferring instead to roll up her sleeve and do the dirty work to get a scoop.

He had never thought of her _that_ way, not seriously, but every once in a while it just hit him. She was one of a kind, Miss Lane. One of the best in the world, really.

When Jimmy's eyes left Lois, they fell on Superman, who was also looking at her. Ah. One of _those_ moments, then. He winked at Lois and walked off unobtrusively, leaving the two alone. Superman shot him a grateful glance.

He stood on the sidelines, taking a few pictures here and there as the atmosphere gradually warmed up.

When he glanced in a corner, he spotted the Flash. Incredibly, he wasn't zipping around, making silly jokes and making everybody comfortable. Instead, he just sat there with a glass in his hands, and if he hadn't worn such a big smile on his face, Jimmy would have been a bit worried.

"Hi," he tried, going to sit next to the speedster, who barely turned to him. "You all right?"

"Wha'? Oh, yeah, right, absolutely. It's just – yeah. I'm all right. _More_ than all right."

Jimmy squinted at the guy. He looked way past punch-drunk and into the land of little white clouds and flashy rainbows.

The question left his mouth before he even thought about it. "How many of _these_ have you had?"

The Flash blinked – _very_ slowly, for him – and turned his head to stare at Jimmy.

"Four. It's my fifth orange juice. Why?"

Jimmy gave him what he hoped was an inquisitive pointed stare.

"_Orange juice_? You gotta be kidding me."

This got a more normal grin. "Believe it or not, pal, I didn't touch anything stronger than that tonight. Anyway, if I had, you probably wouldn't have noticed."

"Oh yeah? I notice a lot of stuff, you know."

"I bet you do." This was said without any sarcasm, to Jimmy's surprise. "What I mean is, last time I tried, I stayed drunk for about … Twenty minutes."

"Must have been an interesting twenty minutes." Jimmy couldn't help a smirk. He had a very good imagination. "And a hangover?"

"An hour."

"An _hour_?!" Jimmy stared, then glared at him. "Man, I hate your metabolism."

"Lots of people do." Flash gave him one of his lightning-quick, big silly grins. "And I'll have you know that an hour is, like, _ages_ if you're me."

There was a silence, which quickly got filled with the sound of conversation and Aimée Mann's rendition of _God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen_. It was not exactly the kind of night Jimmy had imagined – actually, some hidden part of him had expected some kind of attack by Lex Luthor, the remaining Legion of Doom or the Royal Flush Gang – any power-crazy super-villain keen on death and desolation and party-crashing.

But no. The only demons they had to fight that night were only tension and awkward attempts at conversation.

It looked like exactly the wrong occasion for a perfect picture, but Jimmy was nothing if not persistent. He snatched a photo of the Flash that turned up funny and kind of goofy – it suited the guy to a T – and stood up.

"The eternal quest for the perfect picture, right?"

Jimmy nodded, his eyes on the various people scattered in the room. "How'd you know?"

"My aunt was a reporter. Mostly she wrote stuff, but she always said that the 'perfect picture' was the reason she left it to professionals."

The photographer's curiosity in Jimmy Olsen was piqued. "What was her name?"

The Flash winked. "Sorry. Secret identity business, kind of thing."

_Darn. _So_ close_.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why are you so … high on orange juice?"

The faraway euphoric look flitted across the Flash's face for a second. Then he grinned and shook his head. "Just got some news. And as far as I'm concerned, they're the _best_ news I ever got."

"Cool." Jimmy took his old, dog-eared notebook from his pocket. "What is it?"

The Flash gave him a pointed look that didn't carry much more weight than Jimmy's usually did. It wasn't inquisitive enough – the big smile threatened to get in the way. "Something private. Look, don't take it personally, but I'm kinda saving it for … the opportune moment. When I can tell the guys. But not now."

"Okay, no prob." _I'll have to make sure I have my camera ready then_. "Merry Christmas, Flash."

"Merry Christmas, Jimmy."

Jimmy left him like he had seen him – staring into nothing with a huge smile on his face. It was an odd way to spend a Christmas party, he reflected, but soon hid his own smirk when Shayera dragged him in the middle of the room to dance on a (probably Christmas-related) jazzy tune, to everyone's relieved delectation.

Shayera Hol was very graceful, and had magnificent coordination, but one thing she never quite learned to do just _right_ was dancing. Flash was known as the only one with quick enough reflexes to be able to dance with her without getting his feet trodden upon, and the only one with enough nerve – or sheer recklessness – to comment on her terrible dancing skills.

And judging by the way she slapped the back of his head, he'd just done exactly that. Fortunately, judging by the good-natured grin on both their faces, it was a well-rehearsed game.

Predictably enough, Superman invited Lois to dance to a slower song.

Batman pointedly did _not_ look in Diana's direction.

Jimmy was entreated to a dance with the Princess of the Amazons, and found it difficult enough to concentrate on leading a woman who had three or four inches on him without feeling Batman's glare burning in the back of his head. Diana was absolutely lovely, however.

The evening wore on, and still he saw no sign of the perfect picture.

Well. At least it proved a better night than he had expected on first impression. The Christmas dinner was good, the atmosphere had finally thawed out and most of the guests were having a good time.

After gifts were exchanged, just when Jimmy was beginning to feel that the party was over and none of the pictures he had taken tonight was front-page material, Superman caught his eye and the gloomy way he watched the small screen of his digital camera.

Always helpful, Superman suggested that everybody should be at least on one picture and that one group photo would take less time that seven individual portraits. Batman tried to object to being caught on film – something that he'd successfully avoided for _years_ – but when Jimmy told him that if he stood right there he would be completely in the shadows and no-one would see his face, he grudgingly accepted.

Everyone took a suitably heroic pose. Of course, it just meant that Green Lantern was standing just a little bit more than usual to attention, Shayera was gripping her mace tighter, and Batman glowered, shrouded in darkness.

The only ones not really listening to Jimmy were Diana and the Flash. She was whispering urgently to him, and both gave a start when Batman's cold voice said, "_I_ would like this stunt over with as quickly as possible, thank you."

Jimmy took his picture. A nice, straight group photo, where everybody gave a smile or their own version of one. John Stewart and Shayera were almost unnoticeably looking sideways at each other.

And then, in the second it took for him to lower his camera and the eight people in front of him to relax, Diana turned to Flash and just said, "… _And?_"

To say Flash beamed would be a gross understatement. His whole face positively _shone_.

"I'm gonna be a _dad!_"

Jaws dropped, heads turned sharply, smiles just began to make their way across some faces …

Jimmy pressed the button on his camera.

_Perfect picture_.

* * *

Didn't see that one coming, did ya? ;o) Couldn't help throwing in some Shayera/John (because in my mind, those two eventually sorted out their problems and pride and doggone stubborn streaks and got back together) and … whatever Diana/Batman I could write. That Bats is so darn hard to write. Aargh.

Linda's not mentioned, but of course Wally and her are married. To me, it's bound to happen one way or another, even in the DCAU – because sure, Wally starts off hitting on every woman he comes across, but eventually he matures a little bit. Not too much, mind :D

Next up: _"Wouldja stand still so I can properly kill you?!" Captain Boomerang yelled, thoroughly aggravated._


	17. Infuriating

**Author's note**: Hey :o) Back with another really short snippet. Because I like tormenting villains :D

_Disclaimer: To my everlasting regret, everyone and everything mentioned here is someone else's property. Wouldn't know what to do with the good captain's boomerangs, though :P_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_17. Infuriating_

"Wouldja _stand still so I can properly kill you?!_"

The Flash grinned – the big, goofy kind, the one that made him look the least dangerous guy in a superhero suit on Earth.

On second thoughts, it was probably his most dangerous grin. The one that made it _so_ easy to underestimate him for a harmless joker.

"D'you know how really _not scary_ you make it sound? I hear it from Hawkgirl and Batman all the time, and they have the decency to sound like they actually _mean_ it!"

Captain Boomerang tightened his grip on his explosive boomerang, metaphorical inches from doing a face palm.

_Another bloody long day in prospect._

* * *

Poor Digger. Sorry, mate :o) You know, Batman's Rogues are crazy enough to not be scared of the Big Bad Old Bat, Superman's villains have every right to be afraid when they get Supes _really_ cheesed off … But Flash's Rogues actually get heckled all the time when they battle :D Yeah, Wally's (often lame) repartee wisecracks are one of the reason I like him so much. And then he lampshades it by going, "Heh, that was pretty good." I mean, come on :D

Next up (a 'missing scene' from Hereafter): _For the first time since she was banished from the sunny shores of Themyscira, Diana feels cold._


	18. Mother

**Author's notes**: I'm so glad people are responding positively to this snippet collection. This might be a bit of a "Duh" after 17 snippets and 95 reviews (yay for the Internet – checked the traffic, people are literally peeking in from the whole world!!) but I just wanted to say thank you. To those who don't review, too – every so often it hits me just how lucky I am that nobody seems to outright dislike this baby of mine. Thanks, guys :o)

This one sparked my interest when I watched Superman's funeral from Hereafter for the umpteenth time, trying to spot the cameos; there's a very short scene, without words, where we see Diana getting ready for the ceremony and her mother comforting her. This got me thinking, and this snippet came out. By the way, I don't ship Clark and Diana, so this doesn't have any romance element. Just so it's clear :o)

_Disclaimer: it's really tempting to say that Diana belongs to no-one but herself. But she, her mother and all the characters mentioned in this actually belong to DC comics. Well, Hippolyta and Hermes technically are Greek mythology characters, but it's all a bit foggy. Not mine, though :o]_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_18. Mother_

For the first time in years, Diana feels cold.

It's entirely in her head, she knows that, because the weather in the city is perfect – just a few clouds in the sky, and the afternoon air is still and soft, with a gentle breeze that blows through her apartment window and keeps it from becoming stifling.

Somehow, it reminds her of the last time she saw the shores of Themyscira, just before she walked up the ramp into the Javelin. The wind had been ideal, the sky an ideal shade of blue, and sunlight had made everything – golden and green – lush and beautiful. But she, the Amazon Princess, had been metaphorical inches from physically shivering.

The Amazons are not immortal. They are ageless, immune to illness, and their high skills as warriors as well as natural endurance make them really, _really_ hard to kill.

Diana is no stranger to death. Man's World is filled with it. They die of natural causes, by accidents, or at the violent hands of others, but they die all the time. But this is the first death that hit her in the face and pierced her heart and made her go weak and cold.

Superman is gone.

She still cannot quite process the thought.

It had been so easy, for a few seconds – it had been wonderfully, blindingly _obvious_ – when she held Toyman's neck in her hand. He weighed nothing. He _was_ nothing. He deserved nothing else.

Her whole being had screamed at that point. _Pain. Shock. Revenge._

_KILL_.

Oh, yes. Taking a life seemed so shockingly easy, and natural, and _right_. He was not a human. He was a monster. With no soul. No-one would regret him.

_You killed my friend. Now you die._

Flawlessly logical.

And that creepy little freak's body would be broken beyond recognition by now if Flash hadn't grabbed her arm and brought her fury down with words. They should have meant nothing – she should have been beyond words by that point – but they cut through the white-hot fury straight into her weak point.

_Superman wouldn't have wanted that._

Right now, a small part of her – tiny, really – is still angry at Flash for stopping her then. A tiny part remains of the burning hatred that rose in her for maybe a quarter of a second before she realised he was right.

_We fight for justice, not revenge._

She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye after that. She didn't know how to apologise, and she wasn't sure she really wanted to.

It was so easy for five seconds. Five seconds of agonising, excruciating, beautiful pain. Now everything is complicated and grey and blurred.

Diana tears her eyes from the wall of her apartment, and they fall on her ceremonial Amazon garb.

She's still not sure whether she should wear it tonight for the ceremony. After all, it was made for happy occasions, albeit formal. Besides, she was banished from Themyscira. Does she even have the _right_ to wear royal ceremonial garb?

But really, she can't picture herself wearing anything else tonight.

They – _she_ – must do Superman honour. Justice.

Diana buries her face between her hands.

What she needs right now is a shoulder. A fellow human being. Someone who can lie to her straight in the eye and tell her than things may look bleak now, but they _will_ be all right. More importantly, someone who doesn't need comfort from her.

That's why she cannot go to any of the other five. She needs to talk to someone who didn't used to work with Superman for four years and eight months, laugh with him, argue with him, share comfortable silences and knowing looks and iced mochas with him.

She needs … family. Her _real_ family.

For the millionth time today, Diana feels cold and hollow inside.

She notices the knock on her door after three entire minutes. A hundred and eighty seconds can be a long time.

At first, she doesn't want to answer. She doesn't want to see anybody, nor to be seen in this state by anybody. Grief is a private matter. But an unknown force makes her get up and walk to the door.

When she opens it, her mouth drops. This is not possible. It can't be …

"Hello, Diana."

The gentle, low-pitched voice, so used to command and order, sounds real, as the sudden, familiar wild scent of pine and warm sand and sea air feels real enough. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, is indeed standing in front of her shell-shocked daughter.

She lets herself in and closes the door, because Diana is still too thunderstruck to invite her in. But the shocks wears off quickly. This princess is made of strong stuff.

"M–mother!" she stammers, because she still finds it hard to believe her senses. "What are you doing here?"

"Is this any way to welcome your mother?" says Hippolyta, her calm, soothing tones belying the severe words. "I came to see you."

For one wild second, Diana wonders if Athena's armour gives her access to heretofore unknown telepathic powers. But soon reality kicks in and, even though she remains tall and straight, something inside her sags.

"You … You heard the news. How?"

"Believe it or not, I received a note," Hippolyta answers, the slightest touch of irony in her voice, letting her gaze wander over her daughter's apartment. "It landed on my breakfast table just this morning – but I could swear that I felt something brush past me, _fast_. Hermes swears to high Olympus that he had nothing to do with it, and I have to admit that he's been known to have better manners." She pauses, and when she speaks again, the irony is more present. "Whoever or whatever it was, they broke Danaë's vase. She was most upset."

Diana treads the very fine line between giving in to the sorrow that's been eating away at her wall of determination, getting angry because a certain hothead speedster decided he just didn't care about the laws of her homeland, and shaking her head with a smile, because really, some things never really change.

But some other things do.

"What did the note say?"

Hippolyta sobers up. "That Superman had been killed in battle, and my daughter might need her mother."

The note she gives to Diana is just slightly longer than that, written in a hurried, zigzagging scrawl that she recognises straight away. He spelled 'Themyscira' wrong.

She finally settles for a shaky smile.

"What are you going to do? Turn him to the gods?"

The Queen of the Amazons pockets the note again and gives a familiar smile. It's the same that Diana got when, as a child, she was reprimanded for something her mother did not actually have the heart to punish her for.

Her face becomes the perfect picture of innocence.

"Turn who? I have no idea who left the note. I never _saw_ him do it."

"Don't you mean 'saw them'?"

"Isn't that what I said?"

Mother and daughter share a smile, and suddenly Diana buckles under the weight of those last twelve hours, under the shock and the anger and the sorrow and the sheer absurdity of it …

Her eyes burn, her throat stings.

And her mother puts her arms around her.

She barely noticed the tears when she was about to kill Toyman. Now, as they fill up her eyes and spill down her cheeks and make her shake all over, she is forced to acknowledge them.

"Oh, _mother …_"

Hippolyta caresses her daughter's hair and runs a comforting hand up and down her trembling back as Diana finally sobs out her pain into her neck, "He was such a great warrior _and he was my friend and I loved him so much_ and I just can't believe he's dead and he shouldn't be anyway and _oh Gods oh _why_ this is so unjust and absurd …_"

And Diana carries on, and all the injustice and insanity and pain that any human feels at the death of a friend since the dawn of time pours out – and she realises that it's the price of living in Man's World, taking the risk of sharing and caring and loving –

Through her tears, in her mother's warm, soothing embrace, Diana suddenly understands that this is why they don't kill. Those who do cut themselves from this world.

Caring makes you pay a price. But those who kill – who _choose_ not to care, and often fail – pay an even steeper price.

This she sees in painful clarity, even though her eyes are blurred and puffy as she squeezes them shut to stop the tears. Crying clears her mind, and although the cold and hollow pain is still there in her chest, its edges are dulled like an old, unused sword and it doesn't hurt as much anymore. Sobbing her heart out seems to have a cleansing effect, and all the ugly, violent and poisonous feelings she's been having since last night are being washed out.

When the sobs finally stop, Diana is still sad, empty, and tired. But she's still Diana.

Hippolyta dries the rest of her daughter's tears, and they sit down and talk. Diana does most of the talking, explaining the wonders and contradictions of Man's World, how men – especially the five (well, four, as she mentally corrects herself with a pang that echoes her breaking down a few minutes ago) men she knows most – can be rude and charming and offensive and confusing and funny and hopeless and chivalrous and have _really_ bad table manners … But when they're needed, when it's time to do the right thing no matter the risks, they're here.

Mostly, though, she speaks of Superman, the fact that he might have been a Man and an alien but was actually more human than some others, how noble and selfless he was, how awkward too, sometimes, and his respect for all life, his calm, down-to-earth approach to seemingly impossible odds …

And her mother does exactly what she so badly needs right now.

She listens, and gives comfort, not judgement.

When Diana finishes adjusting the cape on her ceremonial garb, she catches her mother's eye in the mirror. Hippolyta will not stay for the funeral, she knows it. But she is grateful for the hand on her shoulder, giving her the strength she lacked for a moment.

What makes her grateful almost to the point of giddiness is the fact that her mother left Themyscira – even for a few hours – the kingdom and the sacred place she is sworn to protect, just to comfort her daughter because she needed it.

The thought alone is enough to keep her going as she says her goodbyes. _My Queen banished me, but my mother loves me._

"Hera, protect my little sun and stars," she barely hears her mother whisper before she flies away to Metropolis.

The wind whips her face, the sun warms her face and arms, and she realises she finally feels it again.

Diana gives the slightest smile.

_I love you, Mother._

* * *

That one practically wrote itself. Some of it came from personal experience – I think anybody who has lost a loved one felt the wild, strong need to be comforted by someone who isn't involved first-hand, because at a funeral what comfort you can ask for/provide very often go both ways. In retrospect, some of Diana's shock at experiencing the death of a friend is linked in my mind to an episode of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, where Buffy's mom has died and former vengeance demon Anya finally cracks and voices just how absurd and confusing and tragic human death is. One of the most heartbreaking 'speeches' on the show, in my opinion.

Not much humour in there, folks, but I hope you liked it anyway. Next one's funnier. I'm alternatin' :o)

Next up: _Ollie shook his head. "When did I become the uncool, Bruce?" __Batman's response was short and curt. __"When you got yourself a sidekick."_

:o]


	19. Sidekick

**Author's notes**: I'm glad I bounced with joy when I saw I had got over the big 100 as far as reviews are concerned when I did, because right now real life is pretty much keeping me bounce-free. My only granddad is in the hospital and the outlook's not that good, and (perhaps) as a result I haven't been writing anything for a week or so – got 9 more snapshots not counting this one, so they'll be going on anyway, but… Yeah. Anyway, I could do with a bit of funny here. Hence this snippet. Of course, next one's not that funny – again, alternating. 'Cause life does have its ups and downs.

_Disclaimer: whoa, lots of characters in this chapter – Nightwing, Speedy, Green Arrow, Batman … and my favourite Scarlet Speedster :o) Of course, all those charming gentlemen belong to DC comics. But go tell that to Bats. Of course, he'd probably buy them off… On second thoughts, let's not, and on with the snippet and shutting up now._

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_19. Sidekick_

"… And?" asked Nightwing, a grin of anticipation playing across his features. Speedy's own smile became thoroughly smug.

"He said something snarky, and then he was like, "Okay, sure, whatever". You should've seen his face, Dick."

Oliver Queen shook his head as he listened to the conversation from where he stood near the computer.

"Kid doesn't even include my snarky comeback in the story, but I could swear it was something witty." He smirked, and glanced down at Batman, who sat at the computer and typed as though the world depended on it. Which probably was the case. "When did I become the uncool, Bruce?"

Batman's response was short and curt.

"When you got yourself a sidekick."

He didn't even spare a side look. Ollie snorted.

"Yeah, I suppose. Nothing like some enthusiastic newbie kid to remind you that you're old and boring now. Still …"

"And that, folks, is why you'll never see _me_ with a sidekick," said a cheerful voice. Flash suddenly stood near Ollie with a grin on his face and an apple in his hand. "That way, my coolness factor remains intact, thank you very much. Plus …" He took a bite out of the apple and added with his mouth full, "I get to make fun of you guys. Best of both worlds."

Ollie didn't know Flash all that well – they weren't on first-name basis – but silly jokes and wisecrack attitude aside, he seemed an okay kind of guy, who got the job done and was liked by an uncanny number of people. So far, though, he hadn't really thought about him more than that.

He watched the speedster amble to Dick and Roy and join the conversation naturally. The next minute, the three of them were laughing heartily, and he had the unpleasant feeling that they were enjoying a joke at his (and/or Bruce's) expense.

When he took another glimpse at the dark figure at the computer, Bruce had the merest hint of a smile on his face.

_Wait. Is _Batman_ making fun of me now? Man, and I thought things were bad._

"Hey, he's got an uncle somewhere, right?" Ollie muttered, his eyes still on the small group of kids – none of them older than twenty-five, he knew that. "You don't suppose there's a younger cousin in the mix who could get super-speed powers in the same way he did …?"

There was a gust of wind and a whooshing sound, and Flash grinned at him from a spot that was empty a second and a half ago.

"No chance, Arrow. My aunt and uncle don't have kids. Maybe in some alternate reality they do, and one of them got their speed in the _exact same kind_ of freak lab accident I got mine – that would really be a stretch, though, 'cause there's no way I'm careless enough to let _that_ happen – but here? Nope."

"So, even if you could, you wouldn't want a … partner?" Ollie corrected himself because of the mild glare that Speedy suddenly threw him without breaking his conversation with Dick, noting interestedly the mention of a 'lab accident'.

Flash threw him a pointed look.

"Coolness factor, remember?"

And he sped up in the other direction.

Ollie rolled his eyes.

"Let me put it this way," came Bruce's low voice behind him – when Ollie turned round, the guy was still staring at the screen. "Do you really want another like him zipping around the place?"

Ollie stared at him in mock horror. Come to think of it, the idea was pretty cringeworthy.

"That's what I thought." Yep, there definitely was the slightest trace of a smile in Bruce's voice, which Ollie inwardly confirmed when he actually swivelled his chair to glance at Green Arrow and the laughing trio.

"He's one of a kind."

As Batman turned back to whatever he was doing, Ollie realised with some surprise that those words could have had any meaning. They could be derogatory ('he's one of a kind, _thankfully_') or a praise, and knowing Bruce, they could very well be both at the same time.

This was most intriguing, character-wise.

Still, it would have been interesting to see the Flash teamed up with a sidekick even more impulsive than he was.

Even if Ollie had a feeling that both would drive everybody up the wall before you could say 'Fastest Kid Alive'.

* * *

Yep, it's a nod to the comics, where Wally takes a sidekick, who is the grandson of his uncle Barry and his aunt Iris (who moved in the future, long story), and is named Bart Allen. Since this is the DCAU (as I see it), Barry and Iris never moved to the future and had kids and grandkids, so Bart probably won't turn up anytime soon – not that I don't like him, poor kid, I love his Impulse period. But I wanted to dig a bit into that.

And I _love_ Green Arrow. I mean, Ollie is just full of snark and thinks before doing something and generally has a great heart – not to mention his own awesome factor, the guy _hums along his own theme tune_ (in To Another Shore) for God's sake!! If that ain't cool, I don't know what is :o)

Next up: _As a kid, knocking on a door and running and hiding always seemed the funniest thing to Wallace Rudolph West._


	20. Door

Author's notes: oh, hey, a snapshot. Originally I was planning to post it on Friday (and now we're an hour an a half into Saturday) but I missed the deadline, hope that's all right :o)

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters – DC Comics do (does?) and Bob Dylan owns the song. What song, you'll ask? Well :o)_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_20. Door_

The door was tall, dark, and as uninviting as ever.

But the temptation was still as strong.

Wally didn't have a mean streak in him – that's what his mum usually said when she stuck up for him against his father after a prank gone wrong – but something about ringing the doorbell and running away to hide always seemed the funniest thing. Not to mention that he always did what 'seemed like a good idea at the time'.

_Note to self: what seemed like a good idea at the time probably wasn't really._

This door, though, had something special about it. Wally always thought it had to do with the guy that lived behind it. He seemed to scare the other kids so much they never wanted to come near it.

But Wallace Rudolph West had never let such limitations hinder him.

So, like many other times, he crept up the few steps, tiptoed to the doorbell, and pressed it. Immediately after, he ran – the fastest he could – round the side of the house, and waited, loving the thrill that ran through his body and the special, erratic beat of his heart that meant he had gotten away with it yet again.

The door opened. Wally had never seen the man with his own eyes, but he was rumoured to be tall and really, really thin.

He did have the deepest voice Wally had ever heard, though.

"I KNOW IT'S YOU, YOU KNOW."

Each word that fell into place had something definite and inexorable about it, like mountains would sound if they decided to move and hit each other. It made Wally's skin crawl, but he didn't budge from his hiding place.

"YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO COME IN ONE OF THESE DAYS. YOU CAN KEEP ON RUNNING, BUT SOMEDAY I WILL OPEN THE DOOR _BEFORE_ YOU KNOCK. AND THEN YOU'LL HAVE TO COME IN."

Oh, the guy was weird, all right. Every instinct of Wally's was screaming for him to turn tail and run as fast as he could – or faster – to a safer place. But he remained where he was, rooted to the spot.

The weirdest thing was, there was something inside him that actually wanted to go through that door. It was cold, windy, and it rained (oddly enough, Wally was certain it wasn't raining when he rang the doorbell). Not the ideal time to stand outside, blowing in your fingers and shuffling your feet and generally feeling like an idiot.

He peeked round the corner.

The guy _was_ thin, and tall, and sort of … crooked. In fact, it was all that he seemed to be, because when Wally tried to focus on a particular feature everything seemed to go a little blurry. Maybe it was because of the rain that dripped from his hair into his eyes, but it was strange all the same.

And he was looking right at him. He had the kind of stare that went right through you and stripped away any hint of bravado and cockiness that you might possess, leaving only a sudden, icy dread.

The warmth inside was inviting. But fear quickly gained the upper hand.

Wally turned tail and ran.

It was high time to get home, anyway.

* * *

Home smelled funny, and Wally slowly became aware of a steady beep that felt entirely out-of-place with the notion of 'home'.

And then he was aware of nothing else but the crushing, burning pain in the middle of his chest – its impact made him gasp and fight for breath – and the colossal weight of every square inch of himself. He couldn't even open his eyes or move a finger.

What on earth had happened?

His mind was fuzzy and unclear and filled with white-hot pain, but his last memory seemed to be a recollection about ringing a doorbell and running away snickering, like he used to do when he was a kid. And the guy's voice.

Oh, God, that voice. There had been whispers of the patience of drifting continents, and the absolute – _absolute_ – certainty that, sooner or later, Wally would have to open the door. _When_ was vague and not really important, but there was something about that calm, confident tone that suggested he was waiting, and he could wait a _long_ time.

The worst thing was, there had been something familiar about it. As though he had already heard it, but couldn't place exactly where and when.

That had actually been what had made Wally's skin crawl. Even now, he still felt the remnants of the primal terror that had risen in him at the sound of that voice. He never wanted to hear it again.

In spite of the pain, in spite of the fact that it was playing merry hell with his senses, he tried to focus on hearing something else.

"… alive?"

Only the end of the sentence made its way through his ears and into his brain, and slowly – especially for him – he finally connected the voice with a face in his mind.

It was Diana. Her voice had sounded choked and her breath caught in her throat.

He felt something warm close on his hand.

Another hand. Probably hers.

Wally still didn't remember what had happened to land him in this state, but for the moment, he didn't care, concentrating instead on getting his senses back and being able to speak again. And ask questions.

When he was eventually able to open his eyes – not much, and the image was still pretty foggy – he saw Diana's face not very far from his own. Her eyes were a bit red, as though she had been crying, but she was smiling the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

She was a sight for sore eyes. He wished he could tell her that, but his head still wasn't working well enough for him to actually form words.

He did catch something in what she said that made him blink and go, "Huh?"

"Nine days, Wally. Nine days. We thought you'd never – I thought you were dead."

Nine days? He'd been out for _nine_ _days?_ That had never happened before! He was famous (even infamous) for his hyper-accelerated metabolism, and aside from being able – and actually having to – engulf twelve burgers in as many minutes, it also meant he always recovered fast. Not Superman kind of fast, but still.

Nine days!?

"… shot you while you were down. Three times, in the chest." Her eyes and hands were quite steady, but there was a tiny something that quivered in her voice. If Wally had been in any other state, he would have been quite touched to see that the Princess so much as let her voice quiver. Diana of Themyscira was a kind and compassionate woman, but strove to remain as unflappable as royalty should remain in all circumstances.

Then again – whoa, three times in the chest? More than reason enough to have been afraid. Wally himself was astonished to even still be alive.

Nine _days_ …

He still found it hard to believe. So much could happen in the space of a _second_ for him – and he had lost almost eight hundred thousands of them. At least.

… Where had the memory of knocking on doors come from?

And who had been that guy? There hadn't been a tall, thin stranger who talked with a voice that sounded like the creak of an old coffin lid opening. Where'd he spring up from?

And why did he feel so familiar?

A nasty realisation dawned, and Wally suddenly felt cold. He would have shivered if he'd had the strength.

He knew when he had last heard – or thought he heard – that voice.

Simply, the last time he had been a little too close to actually buying the farm.

_Knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door …_

Diana peered at him in concern, her smile evaporating. "Wally? What's wrong?"

His heart hammering painfully in his chest – _good, pain means you're still alive_ – he focused on her face and managed to take a deep breath, effectively clearing his mind. No need to freak out. You've been there before – _thatvoiceohGodthatvoice was the scariest thing I've ever heard _– and if you don't do anything really stupid you probably won't go there again for a long time.

The deep, steady breathing helped. Wally smiled.

It felt painful as hell, and it probably looked strained and funny – and not his usual kind of funny – but it was a smile.

_The dead don't smile._

"… Nothin'. 'M okay."

_Aw, jeez._ That hurt like nobody's business. But it did make her own smile reappear.

As he drifted off again – into real sleep, this time – Diana made to leave. Wally made a monumental effort and managed to close his fingers on hers.

"Please … stay."

He didn't have the energy to drown his fear and need for her to be there with the usual quick-shot words – "I'm just, you know, it'd like you to stay, 'cause I'd feel better about everything going black and I've just slept non-stop for nine days and if you're there it'll feel more like sleep and not like having been inches from Death's door and knocking and running like some snotty brat bent on mischief. I mean, if it's all right with you."

– Wally just wanted his friend to be there. To make sure that, if he went to sleep, he wouldn't just close his eyes and never wake up again. He wasn't used to saying things in so few words.

Diana nodded, and sat back on her chair near the bed. She didn't shake his hand off.

Wally barely had time to smile his thanks when he drifted off to sleep for good.

This time, his dreams were completely free of doors of any kind.

He was really glad of that.

* * *

Okay, couple of things. Those familiar with Terry Pratchett's _Discworld_ series know the the (anthropomorphic personification) character of Death always TALKS LIKE THIS. This _is_ a shout-out (partially for the fun of it, but also because I genuinely can't imagine a personification of Death who doesn't TALK LIKE THAT) but also I like to imagine that the mysterious dark and thin character Wally 'sees' was actually the Black Flash, the weird entity that appears to all speedsters right before they die. There's no reason he should TALK LIKE – okay, I'll stop with the repetitive joke :o)

Next up: _"I've always wondered, Clark… You change into Superman in phone booths, right?… Where the hell do you keep your cape in that suit?"_

:o]


	21. Cape

Author's notes: I've been asking myself this question, lately. And since it's not a question that implies musings on the nature of the universe and the ultimate meaning of everything (it's 42 :D See _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ for details…) I had fun coming up with an answer. Hope you like it.

_Disclaimer: I own… a very bad cold. Seriously, it's been making my head feel like it's swelled three times its size and my voice sounds like Bugs Bunny speaking French. Huh. But apart from that?_

… _I wish I had Superman's cape, it'd be great for snuggling on my couch with a mug of cocoa and a book :D_  


* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_21. Cape_

"Hey, Supes?"

"Yes, Wally?"

"When something happens and you need to be there as Superman, you just run into a pay phone and change, right?"

Clark looks up from his coffee into a pair of blue eyes alight with curiosity and laughter by anticipation.

"Uh, yes – if I can find one. They're getting kind of rare these days, you know." _Otherwise_, he doesn't say, _I just make darn sure nobody's watching me_. "Why do you ask?"

"Well …"

Wally's face takes that special expression, the one that means he is going to say something really stupid, he knows it, and he's simply waiting for someone to point it out.

"Where the hell do you keep your cape in that suit?"

First off, Clark bites his lip not to laugh. Hard. Then he makes a show of making sure no-one is watching them, or listening in on them. Wally's eyes grow round as his curiosity peaks.

"Okay … You know, those Bugs Bunny cartoons where he always has a giant hammer ready to pound Daffy Duck or Yosemite Sam? And he always pulls it out of thin air?"

"Yeah," whispers Wally slowly, staring at him intently – if a bit puzzled – and drinking in every syllable of The Big Secret.

Clark leans in, fighting to keep a straight serious expression.

"_That's where I keep my cape._"

And he stands up, coffee finished, barely daring to glance behind him. Wally's look is absolutely priceless.

"_What?!_ You keep your cape in hammer space? _Clark!_"

Superman isn't Superman for nothing.

He only dissolves into laughter _after_ he's reached the outside of the Metro Tower.

* * *

And knowing the guy, _he_ makes sure his com-link's off :D

The "hammer space" thing is partly inspired by this http: //tvtropes. org/pmwiki/ / Main/Hammerspace page (cut out the blanks) but also because I grew up watching Bugs Bunny pull out his giant now-you-see-it-now-you-don't hammer. So the other day I was washing dishes, and because these kinds of weird ideas usually choose the most inopportune moments to pop up, the question Wally asks here came up. Oddly enough, the answer came pretty much immediately. I don't know if it says something about the epiphany-inducing power of the Washing of the Dishes :D

Next up: _It's a well-known notion that if Flash can get to Italy for a pizza and China for Chinese takeout in a blink if he wants. Not exactly false, but not exactly right either._


	22. Received Idea

**Author's notes**: aw yeah Friday! :D Okay, it's not gonna be Friday for much longer, but still Friday. I'm working on another story, with two chapters down and maybe five to go. I'll tell you when it's finished :o)

_Disclaimer: I own only my own quirky (I think) thoughts and a new pencil, but nothing comics-related. I mean, if I owned a multi-billion dollars empire, I'd know about it, right? … Right?_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_ 22. Received Idea_

Flash often hears things like, "Yeah, Fastest Man Alive – guy can get to Italy in a coupla minutes if he wants a pizza and order Chinese takeout from actual China!"

It's not exactly false – he _could_, if he wanted – and it's not the sort of thing that hurts his reputation, so he doesn't correct them.

Because, really, it would be a real downer if he told them he actually prefers the thick fat American crust on his pizzas rather than the thin Italian one or pointed out that American Chinese restaurants cooks (who often are from Korea or Vietnam anyway) adapt their recipes for Western palates. Thai food in Thailand is vastly different from Thai food in the US.

Besides, he doesn't speak a word of Chinese.  


* * *

Really short, I know – it's just something that hit me one time I read or heard that 'Fastest Man Alive' sentence. It's a bit of a joke, but after thinking a bit about it, it seemed odd. And for the record, _I_ prefer thin Italian crust on my pizzas :D

Next up: _Diana doesn't understand why Flash seems to mistake Batman for a disgruntled coyote, so Hawkgirl explains the subtleties of the "Roadrunner" cartoons._


	23. Onomatopoeia

**Author's note**: hey, people! This snapshot's a few hours early, because I'm taking a 5-hour competitive exam tomorrow (the second part, actually – got the _other_ 5 hours down today) so I thought I might as well get it up early. Yeah.

I also wanted to thank you for the kind words about my granddad last month – really, folks, thanks. It may seem like just letters on the screen, but it meant a lot. He's a lot better now (to the doctors' bafflement, they barely gave him a couple of days then) and I'm really happy and … Well, babbling a little bit :o)

_Disclaimer: I own my special two-part 10-hour-long-exam headache, and various plot bunnies that I just might put into written words, but I don't own DC Comics. (If I did, Owen Mercer wouldn't have done what is implied he did. Loved _Blackest Night_, but that part … just ugh.)_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_23. Onomatopoeia_

"So … You're saying that this is in reference to a cartoon?"

Hawkgirl stares at Diana in something like incredulous wonder. Then she sighs.

"Sometimes I forget you've only been here in – what d'you call it? Man's World? – for a couple months. But yeah. See, there's this coyote, and he's always trying to catch this super-fast bird with contraptions and death traps that never, _ever_ work. And the bird –"

"The 'Roadrunner'?"

"– exactly – well, the bird usually just waits till the Coyote's gadgets turn on him so he can speed past him, go "_Meep, meep_", poke his tongue at him and zip off."

Diana pauses to think and smiles. "I definitely see a resemblance. But isn't it … a little … _dangerous_ to try this sort of thing on Batman, of all people?"

Hawkgirl smirks. "He seems to think it's more fun that way. And until it gets him killed, I'd say I agree with him."

At a sudden gust of wind – a vague red blur – the ears of both women perk up in curiosity and somewhat resigned anticipation.

"Wait for it …" whispers Diana, smiling in spite of herself.

Of course, 'it' comes immediately.

"_Meep, meep!_"

Another gust of wind, the sound of a pencil broken in two in absolute rage, and a roar echoes throughout the entire Watchtower …

"_FLASH!_"

Diana catches Hawkgirl's eye and sees her own wide grin reflected on the Thanagarian woman's face.

"He's _dead_."

"Oh, yeah."  


* * *

He is _so_ dead :D

Seriously, since I wrote that line in _Villains_ about the Flash and the Rogues having their own game of Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner the idea just kept … well, running through my mind and going "Meep, meep!" that infuriating way plotbunnies do :o) Plus Diana and Shayera seemed the right people to comment on that, so I got to write them being friendly – bonus.

As for Batman impersonating Wile E. Coyote … Heh. He'd pwn the Roadrunner in two seconds flat ;o)

Next up: _It may not amount to much for Lex Luthor and his ilk, but tonight the Ultra-Humanite had everything: a perfect dinner with the most beautiful woman in the entire history of art._


	24. Dinner

**Author's notes**: Friday! My cue :o) Only three snapshots left (including this one) because for now that's all I've written, but I have got down three chapters (so far, out of seven planned) of another JL fic, so when I don't have any snapshots (for now!) to publish there'll still be stuff to read :o) Anyway, hope you enjoy this one. The Ultra-Humanite doesn't always get the glory he deserves, in my opinion – so here's me trying to set it right :o)

_Disclaimer: Erm … don't own anything mentioned here. Everybody got that? Good. I wouldn't want DC to sic Deadshot on me if they thought I'd claim the stuff for myself. I really really don't :S  
_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_24. Dinner_

The Ultra-Humanite gingerly lit the candles without a flourish, putting the last touch to his New Year's Eve table. The getup was elegant and simple, perfect for a cosy dinner between two cultured … beings. Puccini played softly in the background.

Her eyes followed him across the room as he finally put the first _entrée_ on the black and white tablecloth and sat down, her smile mirrored in his eyes.

Well, no, not really. No smile, human or otherwise, could ever compare to hers in a million years.

Perhaps her smile was the main reason he revered her so, but the depth and wisdom that shone in her eyes belied that theory. She was unique – so mysterious and inviting, so calm yet so rich and vibrant … Oh, yes, no wonder his heart had treasured her for so long.

Ultra-Humanite filled his glass with a fine Sauternes (a Château de Rayne-Vigneau, rich and golden and sweet but not too much so) and gave her a smile.

"Happy New Year, my dear. Let its beginning be as wonderful and full of promises as the draw of the last one."

Across the table, Mona Lisa Del Giocondo still smiled her eternal, inscrutable smile.

Luthor and the others might be very ambitious in both intentions and ways to materialise them, but they always lacked a certain _je ne sais quoi_, some kind of class that could elevate them to the Humanite's highly demanding sense of kinship. Ruling the world was a laudable aspiration, but it would never have the quiet glory that enjoying an exquisite dinner with the most beautiful (albeit not conventionally so) woman for centuries held.

Or the most beautiful painting, as it were.

Humanite raised his glass.

"To art."

Still, Mona Lisa smiled.

* * *

One day on a dull bus ride, I was listening to the Nat King Cole version of _Mona Lisa Smile_ (lovely song, by the way) while I was idly thinking about a music meme, and I just got this mental image of the Ultra Humanite looking at the most famous painting in the world (which he has stolen, because he's badass that way :P) with a smile on his face. I'm not sure I can draw him, so in the end I wrote him a snapshot. Happy New Year, Freaky the Snowman :D

Next up: _Wally often hears people pointing out that selflessness is the chief virtue of a superhero. He disagrees. Having a lot of self had never kept him from doing the right thing._

:o]_  
_


	25. Selfless

Author's note: next to last snapshot, ladies and gents – for the moment, anyway :o) This Friday I offer you a little Wally introspection. Hope you like :o)

_Disclaimer:I own the bread, ham and Gorgonzola cheese I'll be having for lunch (yummy!) but I don't own DC – comics _and_ animated universe, since the DCAU is what I'm writing about. Wouldn't trade my lunch for it, though. Too much darn trouble, and I value my food as dearly as the next Frenchwoman :D_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_25. Selfless_

Wally often hears people pointing out that selflessness is the chief virtue of a superhero.

He doesn't agree.

First off, even if you're born with superhuman powers, or, like Bats, actually _achieve_ nearly superhuman powers – the guy can keep _J'onn_ out of his mind, for God's sake – or, like himself, have had powers thrust upon 'em … You get your share of ego. A big one.

No wonder the time when Grodd had messed with their minds and dragged up all the resentment and the bad moods and made everything clash had made Wally think that the Beatles splitting must have been a little bit like that.

Being a superhero practically makes it mandatory for your ego to step right up there with the others. That's what makes it hairy, sometimes – all those egos, those I-work-alone attitudes in the same room. But when you get down to it, when there's no choice, no back-up plan, no other solution, each and every one of these men and women would lay down their lives.

But Wally thinks there's something unfair in calling that 'selflessness'.

Having a lot of self had never kept _him_ from doing the right thing. When he almost ran himself out of existence to defeat the Brainiac/Luthor hybrid, he wasn't being selfless. He _was_ thinking as he ran – albeit not very clearly – _I can do this. I'm the only one who can do this. This is _my_ thing._

Amazing and terrifying himself every thousandth of a second.

Maybe there should be another word to mean 'giving-your-everything-no-matter-the-cost'.

* * *

The ending's a little abrupt … sorry :o/ This one stemmed (I think) from the fact that I'm not a native English speaker and I get curious about words, especially English ones. Being 'selfless' means putting others before you, right? But it puzzles me a bit that thinking of others should always mean stop being self-aware. Anyway, my two centimes :o)

Next up: _Copperhead and Atomic Skull can't be caught. They're on a mission from … you know the guy._

:o]


	26. Mission

Author's note: aw yeah Friday! :D Sorry, just read some _Tiny Titans_ comics and found it the most adorable thing I've read for a long time. Seriously, it's too cute and sweet (and tongue-in-cheek as well, so you don't have to worry about getting cavities). Anyway, to understand the joke in this snapshot, you kinda have to have seen _The Blues Brothers_ – or heard of the film, at any rate :o)

_Disclaimer: I don't own these two guys, and I don't own the Blues Brothers either … too bad, really. I love me a little rhythm and blues in the mornin' :o)_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_26. Mission_

The street was dark and silent, gleaming with recent rain. There was no hint of anything alive, yet Copperhead fidgeted nervously.

"Look, Atomic Skull, I get it that he sends us on errands and everything 'cause he wants to test us and stuff, but I really don't like this. I mean, suppose the League swoops down on us and kick our asses like they do all the time?"

"Speak for yourself," muttered Atomic Skull, the light coming from his head glowing a subdued green – as if _that_ was being inconspicuous. "The only time I got whupped was because of that Metabrawl business. And I totally kicked ass then. Sent Green Arrow packin'."

"S'not how _I_ heard it," mumbled Copperhead, still not convinced. "But still … suppose they do catch us and –"

Atomic Skull stopped in his tracks and turned around so swiftly Copperhead almost bumped his head against the flaming green skull. He almost squeaked in surprise – _not_ fright, definitely not fright – and hissed angrily, "_Hey!_ Ever heard of personal space, pal?"

Atomic Skull shrugged, and stared down at him. A skull shouldn't be able to frown, right? _Right?_

"They're not gonna catch us. We're on a mission from Grodd."

Copperhead's mouth hung open at the same time Atomic Skull's eyes – or lack of eyes – seemed to go a little glassy and uncertain for a second. Then he began to smile crookedly.

"Oh, you did _not_ just say that."

"Keep movin', Copperhead."

Atomic Skull turned his back on him and started walking again, Copperhead trailing behind him, his smile turning into a huge grin.

"You _did_ say that!"

"Come on and be _quiet_."

As the two thieves walked along the dark, gleaming pavement, avoiding the pools of yellow light under the streetlamps, Copperhead's grin kept growing.

"I can't believe you just said that!"

"I – aw, just shut up."

* * *

… I can't believe nobody's used that joke before :D I mean, come on, people!

Sorry :o) Jake and Elwood Blues can't be caught. They're on a mission from God. Hence the lame joke. Just something that occurred to me the other day out of the blue – well, not really, since I was listening to _She Caught The Katy_ – and that I believe nobody had commented on or written about. So, as usual, I grabbed the idea and ran :o)

Next up: _Lois decides she's had enough pretending, so she intentionally lets a not-so-innocent remark slip. Status quo be damned._


	27. Glasses

Author's note: can't believe I've reached the end 0.o For now, anyway, since I don't have more snapshots under my elbow (as the French saying goes). Not a bad way to end the collection, though, because it's a scene I've always expected at some point in the DCAU. Didn't come, so I wrote my own version of it – thus foraying into fluffy romance. With a bit of snark, because, c'mon – it's Lois 'Snark-Is-My-Middle-Name' Lane :D

_Disclaimer: I own the pie crust I'm using for my quiche (mhmm … uncooked crust …) and a list of increasingly lame disclaimers that I don't own DC comics, but I don't. Own. DC. Comics. I want to own a one-volume copy of _The New Frontier_, but that's another thing entirely. All characters belong to DC, and Clark's non-eyesight-correcting glasses belong to Clark :P_

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_27. Glasses_

Lois was working late. This in itself was not surprising.

What _was_ surprising was that Clark Kent was still hovering in the background, looking like a schoolboy too shy to ask a girl to the prom.

This she saw in the reflection of her computer screen, because when she turned around, he bustled about, opening and closing drawers as though searching for something.

She finally took pity on him and asked – quietly, because the big empty editorial office room of the Daily Planet, when absolutely devoid of human activities, caused anyone to whisper like in a library, "Hey, Smallville – what're you doing still here?"

He stood up, awkwardly straightening his glasses on his nose in a gesture she had come to find endearing over the years – not that she'd tell him that, of course – and gave a sheepish smile, burying his hands in his pockets.

"Oh. Er … I'm just looking for my glasses case. Stupid, really, I – I was so sure I'd left it somewhere …"

"Uh-huh." Lois continued to type in the oblivious manner that she hoped would entice him to spill the beans.

But she had been waiting for _years_. A girl could lose the best years of her life that way. Fortunately, the fact that she seemed to have no personal life wasn't the main gossip-worthy thing about her. It was widely known that she was (sort of) Superman's girlfriend.

This explained why she and Clark were the two most dedicated and hard-nosed reporters on board. Lois Lane was Superman's prerogative, and Clark Kent had no life. This _status quo_ had proven more than solid.

"Did you look under your desk? It could have fallen and rolled."

"I am, but … no such luck."

Lois didn't miss a blink. "Why don't you use your X-ray vision?"

"Good idea, thank –"

She bit her lip to hide a grin and slowly swivelled around in her chair as Clark's head came up from behind his desk, the dim light glinting off his glasses and his mouth hanging open.

"Did … did you just …"

She crossed her arms and stared at him straight in the eye. Or rather, where she knew his eyes were behind those glasses of his.

"Yes, I rather think I just did."

He stood still for a while, looking thunderstruck. Then he gave a shaky smile.

"Your timing is impeccable."

"I know." _I figured you wanted to come clean about _something_, anyway_. "Just wanted to put you out of your misery. Watching you squirm got old after ten years."

"Yes, I can only imagine."

He seemed to shake himself out of it, and walked round his desk to lean on it, watching her intently. His posture was a fascinating mix between the Clark Kent slouch and the Superman confidence, and Lois found herself looking for every single little detail between the two personae.

"So … Are you going to get another Pulitzer out of this?" he asked, uncertainty tingeing his voice.

She kept her arms crossed and her gaze stern. "Honestly, Clark, do you think for a second I wouldn't already have if I really wanted to? I haven't said anything about Bruce Wayne being _Batman_, for God's sake!" She stopped, realising she was inches from shouting. "Don't you know me well enough by now?"

"I think I know you pretty well," he said, and it was weird to see Clark Kent suddenly as calm and unflappable as his caped alter-ego. "I figured I could trust you. I just … I was just waiting for the opportune moment."

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "For ten years?"

His eyes bore into hers. She wasn't used to such a steely gaze – not while its owner wore a three-piece suit.

"Look, I know you love Superman. I just …" He took his glasses off and cleaned them, a classic when he was feeling squirmish. "I wasn't sure you could ever love Clark Kent as well."

Now _her_ mouth went slack, and she was torn between rushing to him and embrace him, and slapping him silly.

"Is that it? _That_'s why you never said anything?!"

He put his glasses back on his nose, silently waiting, his posture not changing one bit. Lois rose to her feet and slowly closed the gap between them, her heart in her throat.

"All these years, I was waiting for you to tell me, you big dope! I was waiting for you to show that you trusted me enough to tell me your big secret! And now look at us – we're having such a soap opera conversation about love and trust and whatnot and it's so _ridiculous_ –"

Clark took her in his arms and kissed her. Not just any kiss, either – the full dramatic thing, with him tipping her back slightly and his arms strong and warm around her. The sheer shock shut her up, then she mellowed and leaned into the kiss, closing her eyes in bliss.

It was, as far as she was concerned, the most fantastic kiss _ever_.

When she opened her eyes, she looked right into the foggy glasses of Clark Kent. A very undignified giggle barely escaped her lips before she kept it in check. Lois Lane did _not_ giggle. Ever.

"Wow, Smallville," she breathed, and as a result his glasses got steamed up on the outside as well as the inside. "Who knew you were such an amazing kisser?" When he opened his mouth to reply, she pinned him with a lovingly sarcastic look and added, "Oh, yeah. _I_ did."

"Well," he said with a pointed look, his face still a couple of inches from hers, "you always did like to be swept off your feet, right?"

"Damn ri – oh."

Their feet had left the ground, and the two of them were floating gently a foot or so above the floor.

"Show-off."

"Sorry about that."

"I'm not saying 'Put me down'. C'mere."

This time she kissed him, and he certainly didn't seem to mind. When they broke away, their feet gently touched the ground again, and he had a big silly smile on his face that turned into a grin.

"Ha. John owns Wally twenty bucks. Kid's got a good sense of timing."

Lois frowned slightly, her curiosity picked.

"'Wally'? Who's 'Wally'?"

Clark suddenly looked a lot more like Clark when Lois came up with a particularly alarming suggestion.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You're gonna have to figure that out."

Lois gave her best evil grin.

"It's the Flash, is it? I bet I'm right."

"Not saying anything."

"Come on, it's not like I'd tell anyone."

"Lois, I'm _not_ telling!"

"You can be such a boy sc –"

For the second time in only a couple of minutes, Lois found herself reduced to silence with a kiss. When they both came up for air, she gave a crooked smile and stared into Clark's eyes. The glasses were all fogged up again.

"That won't work forever, you know."

"Won't keep me from trying."

"Gosh, Kent, I damn well hope so."

They both grinned at each other, and it was cheesy, and corny, and really it shouldn't have worked in a million years on a woman like Lois prided herself on being …

But it did anyway.

As Lois Lane turned off her computer, leaving her unfinished article to a more appropriate time tomorrow, she couldn't help grinning like an idiot.

_Things are certainly going to get very interesting now._

* * *

Yay for snarky romance – which I hope was snarky enough to qualify. I usually avoid writing fluff like I avoid writing violence and fighting – I'm no good at both :S

The goggles/glasses, they _do_ do something! They make a good excuse for conversations and big reveals :D

Next up: … New story. _Everybody Goes to Harry's_ – "Harry's" being that pub in Central City where Flash's Rogues hang out (I had so much fun with them in _Wife_ and especially _Villains_ that I couldn't let go of them just yet – plus I wanted to stay in that pub :P) Every chapter (five written, three more planned) features that pub in some way or other. And a little _Casablanca_ line just for fun ;o)

Thanks for reading and/or reviewing, all. I can't begin to tell you just how darn _fun_ this has been. Hopefully this isn't the VERY!LAST!SNAPSHOT!, but I wanted to tell you just how awesome you've been :o]


	28. Recruitment

**Author's note**: This is a snapshot I wrote two years ago on the bus, and I realised recently I had never posted here – so here it is, in case anyone's still interested in this little collection :o) For the moment, I'm still stuck in writer's block limbo as far as the _Justice League_ fandom is concerned, but I promise I will come back to _Everybody Comes To Harry's_ (for one) as soon as the writing lightning strikes.

This snippet is set in JL, during (or just before, depending on your reckoning) Injustice For All, when Luthor is recruiting for his group of super-criminals. Because I like poking fun at Copperhead any way I can, and I don't even know why. And also because the Monty Python gang was awesome all around, both in comedy and in real life. Every single one of them.

_Disclaimer: I don't own Flash's Rogues – content to watch them from afar, really, all the shenanigans they're up to :P – and I don't own Copperhead either (sneaky guy in a snake suit … no thanks!) or the Python quote I misquote in there. But you already knew that._

* * *

**Snapshot Collection**

_28. Recruitment_

Copperhead stared at the seven men who sat around a rather crowded table, and kept playing cards as though he had not just offered them a significant sum of money.

"So … it's 'no', then?"

Captain Cold. Heatwave. Captain Boomerang. Mirror Master. The Pied Piper. They weren't all there, he knew, but they might have been an asset.

They were supposed to be pretty big in this town, but it was difficult to imagine them in Luthor's league when you saw them playing poker and drinking beer like some blue-collared Joes who'd just gotten off of work. Plus, the profession did mean to a certain extent that you were allowed a certain leeway as far as costumes and characters were concerned, but come on … Those colours just screamed 'I'm here, come and get me'. Of course, their regular 'hero' was rather … flashy, all puns intended, but still … Might as well have painted targets on them with a giant brush.

Captain Cold didn't even look up from his hand at Copperhead's question. It was impossible to tell whether it was a good or a bad one.

"It's 'no'. Luthor can have his little personal vendetta against the Justice League. Whatever he pays us won't be nearly enough."

"Besides, we're not mercenaries," Heatwave added, picking a card and glancing at Copperhead, the light glinting off his yellow goggles. A mutter of assent ran among them.

Copperhead kicked back his chair, none too pleased by this turn of events – after all, Luthor's lucrative proposition had just been turned down by some second-rate villains who spent their time robbing banks in the middle of nowhere. It smarted. Especially since Livewire had refused as well. Why was _he_ only sent after the B- or C-list ones, anyway?

Before he was on his feet, however, the Pied Piper pointed out indifferently, "Well, as long as you're in Central, you might as well try the Shade."

"The what?" Copperhead asked, mystified, wondering if the guy was recommending him a good restaurant or something.

Not that he could afford to, anyway. He was flat broke. Hence the working for Luthor.

"Not 'what', 'who'," Mirror Master corrected. "Richard Swift. Does things you wouldn't believe to shadows. He's a … gentleman of fortune, you might say, and he's always on the lookout for jobs. Could be just the professional you're lookin' for."

_Sure, why not_. Maybe the others had heard of this guy, too. He'd have to ask.

"Okay. How do I find this guy, then?"

"Very easily, if he wants to be found." Copperhead decided he didn't like Captain Boomerang's smirk at all. It mocking and smarmy, with enough reptile in it to make it a personal competition. "But your boss had better pay well."

_Well. _Perhaps it wouldn't be such a waste of time, after all.

As he was about to say thanks and leave, an idea occurred to him. Something funny he'd heard. A rumour, really.

Since he was there, might as well ask …

"Hey, uh, there's a rumour goin' round that there's a … Well, that one of … There's a super-villain who's. You know. Gay."

He was met with utterly blank stares and paused, feeling gradually more and more awkward – not to mention a growing need to wring his tail, which he only did in stressful situations.

"And, uh … that he works this town."

More blank looks. Might as well be talking to a wall. But he plodded on.

"D'you … know … if it's true?"

Okay, that was it. The blank expressions were beginning to creep him up a little bit.

Then Captain Cold blinked behind his glasses, and said flatly, "Yes. We found out which one it was, and we had him killed."

He couldn't be serious. He could _not_ be serious. No way in hell he was serious. He was just winding him up.

On the other hand …

"Is there something else you wanted to know?" the Pied Piper asked, rather coolly. Copperhead shook himself out of it.

"No, I just … Uh. Thanks for the tip. Bye."

Five pairs of eyes followed him out of the pub. He could still feel the stares burning in the back of his neck as he closed the door, his cheeks hot with embarrassment and anger at whoever it was that had first mentioned this stupid rumour to him. Now he looked an _absolute_ idiot, those guys would never, ever take him seriously – if indeed they had in the first place – and all for something that was likely to be completely unfounded.

Come to think of it, though, didn't they have a guy there with pink hair or something? And he hadn't been anywhere in sight at the pub. Perhaps …

Copperhead risked a prudent glance through a window before walking away for good.

Just as he thought. All five of them were laughing their asses off, in all probability at his expense, each in his own different way – from hearty guffaws to half-hidden snickers. The only one who wasn't at least chuckling was the Pied Piper, who sipped at his beer with what Copperhead thought was a small smirk on his face.

Bah. Guy had seemed like the stuck-up sort, anyway.

* * *

Explanation/context: the Pied Piper (Hartley Rathaway) is gay. This has been canon since his (absolutely epic) coming-out in a 1991 issue of _Flash_.

Now, when Graham Chapman (you may remember him as King Arthur in _Holy Grail_, and Brian in _The Life of Brian_) came out (this is from Wikipedia), "a member of the television audience wrote to the Pythons to complain that she had heard a member of the team was gay, adding that the Bible said any man who lies with a man should be taken out and stoned. With fellow Pythons already aware of his sexual orientation, Eric Idle replied, "We've found out who it was and we've had him shot." [...] Chapman said that this took place just before John Cleese left the show, and he wondered what the woman thought about his disappearance after getting Idle's response."

I remembered the quote as "_which one_ it was, and we had him killed" (which made the whole thing sound even more absurd), and at some point the thought hit me that it was perfect and snarky and I just _had_ to use it. Apologies to Mr. Chapman, and if it helps, sir, years and years and years after you still make this Frenchwoman laugh her knickers off :o]

DCAU Trickster does have pink-on-blond hair, so I figured a guy like Copperhead (not being exactly gifted with superior intelligence) would draw some conclusions …

Hope you liked :o]


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